


Secondhand Smoke

by willgrahamchops



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - High School, Crossdressing, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-19
Updated: 2012-04-19
Packaged: 2017-11-03 21:45:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willgrahamchops/pseuds/willgrahamchops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They walk in on Gerard boning somebody's girlfriend, and it all goes downhill from there. (Rikey-centric).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secondhand Smoke

It’s Ray’s fault they had to move this whole operation to Frank’s house. His parents are always so damn overprotective, and they don’t even _consider_ meeting Mrs. Way because apparently it is not important for Ray to have friends if it gets in their way.

Not to mention, he feels like an idiot when he sits down at the table and forgets the contents of all three of the instruction manuals Frank lent him to read over the weekend. He stares at the giant skyscraper of loose paperwork and totally blanks. It’s like Honors Chem all over again. He can tell that Frank feels kind of sorry for him by the way he keeps glancing in his direction with those big, dramatic, woe-is-me eyes of his, but he can also tell Frank isn’t _too_ sorry, because he keeps laughing at Ray’s dumb questions.

Finally, Gerard rolls his eyes and crumples up Ray’s botched character sheet. “Look,” he says, “how about you just use Matt’s fighter and pick up where he left off? That way we don’t have to phase you in or anything.”

Ray doesn’t know a whole lot about Gerard, and that’s part of why he’s so uncomfortable. Sure, Gerard is in his AP Literature class, but it’s not like they ever talked or anything. He’s got this greasy mane of black hair and doesn’t wear clothes with colors on them. He’s kind of scary; even more so when Ray is standing between him and his campaign. So Ray sort of nods and agrees, because he wanted to be a bard but he wasn’t quite sure what that entailed, so it was probably a safe bet to just do whatever Gerard thought he should do.

Gerard says they’ve never played at Frank’s house before, but at _his_ house there’s a rule that nobody can get up for snack breaks or whatever unless everybody gets up. He says it’s because Bob always wanders off and they find him watching TV like twenty minutes later, but Frank confides that it’s just because Gerard is a control freak.

So it’s him, Gerard, Frank, Bob, and Gerard’s scrawny younger brother who Ray keeps wanting to call Matt, except his name can’t be Matt because Matt is the guy Ray’s replacing, with the stupidly unbalanced fighter. In his head, Ray just calls Gerard’s brother Paladin because that’s what he is, and it helps him keep things straight. Paladin has glasses that are so far down his nose he definitely can’t see out of them, and his moves are always the weirdest. Frank is usually like _um, attack that shit_ , and Ray does whatever the guys whisper in his direction. Gerard gets pissed because he thinks Frank and Bob are trying to influence Ray’s character too much, and then when Paladin makes suggestions he doesn’t even care.

It’s not so bad once he gets started, really. The first thing he really learns is that, according to everybody except Gerard, Gerard is a fucking awful Dungeon Master. It’s sort of a running joke, he thinks. Pretty soon Ray is in on it, and that’s nice, and he makes fun of Gerard too even though he still doesn’t totally grasp the game mechanics.

Toward the end of their adventure, Frank’s mom brings them cookies and milk. Frank’s mom is a totally amazing cook. She makes all kinds of delicious lactose-free baked goods for him and Frank whenever he’s over, and Frank repays her by stepping up in his role as man of the house and freaking out when there’s a spider on the shower wall. Ray knows; he’s heard Frank’s high-pitched squeal all the way in the bedroom before.

“Thanks, mom,” says Frank, and he kisses her on the cheek, two cookies already stuffed in his mouth.

Gerard designates this as snack time, as long as nobody gets chocolate on his dungeon map and _no, Frank, you do not fucking_ look _at the dungeon map_! Gerard says it will ruin the adventure if anyone looks. Ray takes his word for it.

The cookies are gooey and melt in his hands, and they taste awesome but also sort of weird, probably because there’s no milk.

Finally, when the plate is exhausted and Bob has spilled milk all over his and Frank’s notes, they give up and call it a day. Ray thinks he’s sort of getting the hang of it. He got a better sword, at least, and killed a couple of slimes. Bob saved his ass from more than a couple of _real_ monsters, but who’s counting?

Gerard stuffs all his papers back into his accordion file and Frank cleans up the cookies. Paladin hangs out behind Gerard, looking all chill and disinterested. He’s barely wearing anything, Ray notices. It started fucking snowing while they were setting up, and the ground is now covered in a dusting of white.

“Where do you live again?” Gerard asks, absently shoving dice in his pocket.

“Cherry,” says Ray.

Gerard smiles. “That’s on the way home. Wanna walk with us?”

Paladin pokes his head out from behind Gerard, suddenly interested. “Can I borrow your coat?” He asks. It’s calm and emotionless, just like every word he’s heard from Paladin thus far. Ray’s not even sure his coat will fit the kid. It’s one of those huge feather down kind of deals, and it’s even a little big on Ray.

He frowns. “I can’t. My mom said she’d pick me up.”

“Oh,” says Gerard. “Can’t you just call and say you’re walking?”

“Not really,” Ray says. “I mean, it’s getting pretty dark out.” He immediately feels like a loser, because of course the _Ways_ are walking. Bob’s walking. Frank doesn’t have to walk, because it’s his damn house.

Gerard shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

The jacket is still hanging on the back of Ray’s chair, heavy enough that the whole thing is ready to tip if somebody so much as looks at it wrong. He glances to Paladin, who has about as much insulation as Ray’s college fund: that is to say, none at all. Screw it.

“Wait, uh, dude,” he says, grabbing the thing and presenting it to Paladin. “Take this.”

Gerard snorts. “It’s dangerous to go alone.”

Paladin sort of glares at Gerard and pulls this half-smile at Ray simultaneously. He takes the coat. Just as Ray suspected, it’s practically falling off his tiny frame. “Thanks,” says Paladin.

Ray waves, and then it’s just him and Frank and Bob, and then Bob leaves too and Ray has to wait for his mom.

After he makes the phone call, they sit on the couch together, him and Frank. It only takes about five minutes to get from Ray’s house to here on the best of days, but this is not the best of days so he sits there for a good fifteen, watching cartoons with Frankie and eating the rest of his mom’s cookies. Gerard never found the second plate in the kitchen, apparently.

* * *

“Did you have fun?”

It’s Ray’s dad who picks him up, in his little blue sedan with the custom tinted windows. His dad has always wanted a sports car, but he’s had to settle for this Korean piece of shit. There’s a thin white stripe down each side. The whole thing is pretty tacky, but Ray has always kept that opinion to himself.

“Yeah,” he says, turning up the heat. “Gerard is cool.”

“What did you guys do?”

Ray shrugs. “You know, watched a few movies. The usual.” He never exactly told his parents he was going over to Frank’s house to play Dungeons and Dragons. He’d like to maybe hang out with Bob and the Ways again without his parents cracking jokes at their expense. He doesn’t even see anything _wrong_ with D&D. It was kind of fun.

His father lets the subject drop. Ray kicks off his sneakers and presses his toes against the warm vent under his seat. The leather is still cold against the back of his neck. The car is pretty efficient, which is cool, but also means it takes forever for the engine to heat up. Ray misses his coat.

* * *

He sits alone with Frank in the cafeteria Monday morning, waiting for the first bell to ring. The whole place is too brightly lit and smells like grease and drain cleaner. The cafeteria food is never too bad, but the cafeteria itself is _awful_.

“I kinda thought Gerard and them were gonna sit with us,” Ray says. He’s moping, he knows. He slings his bookbag up onto the table and rests his head on it.

Frank takes a huge bite of his bagel and holds up a finger, _o_ _ne minute_. Frank’s always eating, which is funny because he’s one of the tiniest guys Ray knows. He was _the_ tiniest until yesterday when Ray met Paladin. Anyway, he has this theory that Frank is so little because he can’t drink milk, and he eats because he thinks it’ll make up for it. Ray’s warned him that he’s just going to get fat, not taller. Frank has never really listened.

“They’re here,” Frank says after scarfing down the rest of his second breakfast. “They smoke out back in the mornings.”

Ray’s face must look stupid, because Frank snorts. “Chill out,” Frank says.

Ray’s still sort of disappointed.

Frank tries to strike up a conversation about the new Fantastic Four. “They’re gonna fuckin’ _kill one of them_ ,” he says.

Ray rolls his eyes. “Which issue?”

“Five fifty-seven,” says Frank. “But no, shut up. I don’t care if you’ve read it, _don’t fuckin’ spoil it for me!_ Dude--”

“I haven’t read it,” Ray says.

“Good! Anyway, it said in the next one they’re gonna _kill off_ one of them!”

Ray sighs. “Man, you know I barely even read Marvel. I don’t care who they kill off.” He immediately regrets saying this when he sees the crestfallen look on Frank’s face. Frank gets really damn excited about comics sometimes, andyeah, Ray reads sometimes, but he’s nowhere near as obsessed as Frankie. Honestly, he likes the covers more than anything. He could lounge around the comic shop looking at covers all day.

“Christ,” Frank huffs. “Who shoved that stick up your ass?” He covertly tucks the plastic-wrapped issue he was obviously about to use as evidence back into his backpack.

“Sorry,” Ray says. “Just, y’know. Stressed about this Lit test.”

Frank doesn’t have much to say after that, which forces Ray to actually _study_ for his stupid Lit test.

* * *

His first three periods are a breeze, and then he studies some more at lunch because he has nothing better to do. Frank doesn’t have lunch with him because he’s a sophomore and Ray is a Junior. He’s pretty sure Gerard is a Junior too, but he scours the cafeteria as thoroughly as he can without looking like a friendless weirdo, and Gerard is nowhere to be found.

Ray finds him just fine next period, in his stupid AP Lit class. He has no idea why he signed up for it in the first place, except that his parents wanted him to take some AP classes and he sure as hell wasn’t going for Calc, especially considering _Mr. Caldwell_ taught Calc and he had a reputation for favoritism. Ray was nobody’s favorite, and he liked it that way.

Anyway, AP Lit. Cramped room with too many desks and not enough air. It’s not like Ray has never noticed Gerard until now, but this is the first time he’s like, _noticed_ him. He sits in the corner furthest from the teacher’s desk, which is kind of funny because he’s actually a really good student. Ray knows, because he sits at the front of Gerard’s row and is always passing back his essays and stuff. His _perfect_ essays.

“Hey,” Ray says, as cool as he can muster. He’s not entirely sure why he wants to seem cool in front of the King of Maps and Papers, but he’s also recently learned that Gerard _smokes_. Which is... probably cool? He thinks?

“Hey,” says Gerard, looking up from his heavily annotated copy of _Jane Eyre_. Today’s test is a cumulative of sorts, so Ray assumes he’s re-reading it for _fun_ or something. Unless -- what if it is on the test? Sure, Ray glanced over the rubric, but it only said there would be quotation analysis. Would it help if he knew which book to study?

“Dude,” Gerard says again. “You’re zoning.”

“What?” Ray’s eyes focus again. “Yeah, sorry. Stressing. Hey, is that gonna be on the test?”

Gerard pulls a face. “ _Unfortunately._ The quote essay at the end. No idea what they’re picking out of it, but whatever it is, I’m gonna argue that Bronte was a fucking bitch. Cause, you know, it’s supposedly got all this early-feminist stuff going on, but it’s like -- Jane still gets with the dude, doesn’t she? She still needs a man to because she can’t self-validate.”

“Uh,” says Ray. “Yeah, totally.”

It looks like Gerard maybe combed his hair since they last spoke, because it looks sort of wet and straight now and Ray _knows_ he didn’t wash it. Ray thinks Gerard is pretty awesome, even if he smells weird and doesn’t seem to understand soap.

Then Mrs. Hannigan finally shows up and he has to sit down. Gerard gives him an enthusiastic thumbs-up and mouths _good luck!_

* * *

He actually doesn’t do as badly as he thought he would, though the essay kills him. Gerard was right: it was quotation analysis, and it was _Jane Eyre_. Ray had given up reading it after the first few chapters, so he just sort of scribbled down some of the stuff Gerard said about feminism and turned it in. Who knew being good in Language Arts didn’t make you good in Lit?

He tells Gerard as much while they pack up, and Gerard just smiles and nods and, as far as Ray can tell, gloats inwardly. Gerard aced it, he’s sure.

* * *

Ray’s mom picks him up after school. It sucks, because basically everybody walks or takes the bus, but the only bus that runs out by Ray’s house is a _public_ bus, and his parents are convinced that he will get bludgeoned to death if he rides it.

Anyway, his mom gets him in the family’s stupid decked-out sedan. What’s worse, Frank and Gerard and Paladin are _right there_ , and now they know that he gets picked up too. Sure, Frank has always seen him off and, come to think of it, he’s always been flanked by the Ways. Ray just never cared what they thought before.

He waves awkwardly out the window. Frank waves back, Gerard kind of flops his hand around in some semblance of a farewell, and Paladin at least looks at him, which is a start.

Ray groans. He knows better than to bring up the bus issue again, but he’s considering it anyway.

“How was school?” Ray’s mother asks.

Ray’s parents are always very concerned with how his day went and who he talked to and what he ate for lunch and how his classes are going. They’re very concerned about a lot of things, actually.

He shrugs. “Fine.”

She brushes her curly brown bob out of her face. “How did you do on your English test?”

“Okay,” says Ray. “Pretty good.”

“Did you sit with Frank’s new friends at lunch?”

Ray cringes. He already regrets even mentioning that he was going to hang out with ‘Frank’s friends’ Sunday. At least his parents don’t know the Way’s parents personally -- from what he’s heard, they’re godless heathens and stuff. Ray doesn’t think the Toros and the Ways would get along too well.

“No,” he says. “They’re not in my year,” which isn’t entirely false.

* * *

Frank calls him after school to tell him to check his email, which is admittedly a good idea because Ray hasn’t checked his email since maybe fourth grade.

Ray boots up the computer and sits through the ear-splitting, screeching connection, and the phone in his hand loses the dial tone. This is why Ray hates getting online.

After trying four times to enter his password before remembering that he changed it to _w00kie_ and clearing his spam folder, he opens Frank’s email.

_From: fantasticfrankie69@aol.com_   
_To: rtoro@aol.com, hanshot1st@hotmail.com, xXsexxigurlXx@hotmail.com, bryartime@aol.com_   
_Subject: you guys_

The message is simply a picture of a monkey whose nose sort of resembles a penis.

Ray disconnects the internet and calls Frank back.

“What the crap was that?” He asks as soon as Frank picks up.

The voice on the other line is distinctly female. “May I ask who’s calling?”

“Oh, uh, sorry Mrs. Iero. It’s Ray. Could you put Frank on?” For once, he’s really fucking glad he rarely says ‘fuck.’

Frank is laughing like a maniac, and it takes a minute for him to calm down. Ray sighs dramatically but can’t help smiling just a little bit. Frank’s a total moron most of the time.

“Shut up, I didn’t know she would pick up,” he says. “Anyway, why the hell did you think that was important enough to send me?”

He can hear the familiar squeal of Frank holding in a laugh so hard that air comes out of his nose. “ _Dude_ ,” he says without breathing. Finally, he cracks up.

“Yeah,” Ray says when he’s done, “it looks like a dick. I get it.” He pauses to make sure Frank isn’t going to start laughing again. Frank restrains himself. “So uh, who’sxXsexxigurlXx@hotmail.com?” Ray asks.

“Oh,” says Frank. “That’s Gerard.”

Ray busts out laughing, quickly followed by Frank. “ _Seriously?_ ”

“Yeah,” Frank says. “That’s the one he uses for stupid shit. And like, porn. ‘Cause nobody would ever guess it was him.”

Ray pulls a face he knows Frank can’t see. Eww, porn.

“Don’t be like that,” Frank says in response to his silence. “It’s not Gerard’s fault you’re a late bloomer.”

Frank knows him too well.

“I didn’t even say anything,” Ray pouts.

“But you thought it.”

“Well, yeah--” Ray says.

Frank interrupts him. “Wait, hang on, shut up. He emailed me back!” Frank has a separate phone line so he can talk to Ray and be online at the same time. Screw dial-up, seriously. It’s not like Ray’s parents can’t afford another line, either. They just don’t think he needs it.

“Who, Gerard?” Ray asks.

“Yeah. He says _I'm busy; fuck you, cocksucker_.” Frank laughs. “Wow.”

Ray chuckles too, because there aren’t a lot of things funnier than Frank getting called a cocksucker. “Does he talk to everybody like that?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, some loud banging. “Well, everybody he likes,” Frank says. “Listen, I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bring the rest of those Doritos if you still have them?”

“Sure,” says Ray. “I’ll check.” Ray’s mom bought a giant bag of Doritos Collisions, which is a stupid new flavor where they stick hot wings flavored Doritos and bleu cheese flavored Doritos in the same bag. Frank is the only one who’ll eat them, and they’ve been in the cupboard for a good week because Frank isn’t allowed over on school nights.

“Cool. Later,” says Frank.

“Later,” says Ray, and hangs up.

He grabs the half-empty bag right away, so he won’t forget, and shoves it in his backpack. His mom says dinner will be ready in about an hour, so he sits in his room and plays his shitty old acoustic until then. He’s casually dropped hints that he’d love an electric guitar, but his parents remain happily oblivious. It’s another one of those situations where they can afford one, easy, but don’t think he _needs_ it. He wonders what his parents do think he needs.

* * *

“How was school?” His father asks from across the dinner table, brandishing a forkful of tuna helper in Ray’s direction. Tuna helper is gross, but it’s better than making dinner himself. They always seem to have the damn stuff in the cabinet.

“Fine,” says Ray. He pushes the goop around his plate and takes a swig of water.

“How did you do on that test?” He asks.

Ray’s mom is sitting, like, _right there_. He doesn’t see why he has to answer the same questions twice every damn day. He gets that his parents care, or whatever, but _Christ_.

“Fine,” says Ray.

They eat in silence for a few minutes. Lacy is sitting under the table, licking Ray’s ankles. Lacy is their little cocker spaniel puppy. His dad hates her because she sheds all over everything, but Ray likes her, and Ray’s mom likes her, so she stays. Frank _really_ fucking likes her. She’ll have a good home if Ray’s dad ever makes them get rid of her.

“A boy got shot last night, just off 24th,” his mom says.

Ray sets down his fork and takes another long drink. He sighs inwardly. “I know,” he says. “Frank told me.” He watches her carefully, the set of her shoulders as she finishes off her plate. _Please drop it please drop it_.

“And you wonder why we don’t let you walk home from school.”

Dammit. “It was gang-related, mom,” he says. “I’m not in a gang. I’m not gonna get shot.”

“You don’t have to be in a gang to get caught up in it, _Raymond_.” She always says it like that when she’s making a point. His mom is such a cliche.

“Okay,” says Ray. He pushes his plate away. He’s not hungry anymore. “I have a lot of homework,” he says, standing up. “Night.”

“Good night,” his father says. It’s only six.

He lies awake that night, staring at the popcorn texture on his ceiling and thinking about that kid. At the rate things are going, Ray _is_ probably going to get shot someday, just for the poetic irony of the thing. He’ll be walking the twenty feet from the school doors to the parking lot, and some thug in a ski mask will just pop one, and he’ll bleed out on the sidewalk while all the kids he doesn’t know alter their course so as not to step on him. They’ll have to pour new concrete, probably, because the sidewalk will turn brown from his blood all over everything.

* * *

“Which dumpster?” He asks as soon as he spots Frank. He’s at their usual table in the corner, reading that Fantastic Four issue he was talking about and drinking cereal out of a red plastic cup.

“Nobody fucking dies,” says Frank. “It’s just a bunch of bullshit. I mean, I knew it would be; they can’t kill off anybody in the Fantastic Four and still have a comic worth reading.”

“Where do the Ways hang out in the morning?” Ray asks again.

Frank closes his book and raises an eyebrow, spoon hanging comically out of his mouth, hair in his eyes. Ray doesn’t know how he sees with those stupid side-bangs. “Dumpster,” says Frank.

He sighs. “Yeah, but which one?”

“The one closest to the soccer field,” says Frank. Ray slings his bag over his shoulder before Frank stops him. “Can you throw this out for me?” He hands Ray the cup. It still has pink milk in the bottom, a few stray lucky charms floating in it – not the marshmallows, the stuff that looks like cat food.

Ray grimaces. “Uh, sure. See you in study hall.”

“Bye.” Frank waves him off, already immersed in his comic again.

As it turns out, the Ways are pretty easy to find; he just follows the smell of clove cigarettes until he finds them behind the building. They’re sandwiched between the wall of the music department and the soccer field. It’s just the two of them, Gerard sitting cross-legged on the dumpster lid and his brother standing next to him, both puffing away like chimneys. Paladin spots him first; he gives a tiny nod of acknowledgement and elbows Gerard.

Gerard’s face absolutely lights up when he sees Ray, and he awkwardly clamors off the dumpster. “Toro!” He grins.

“Hi.” Ray waves a little bit. He glances between Gerard and Paladin. “Frank said you guys hang out back here.”

“We do,” Paladin says, unnecessarily.

“Oh,” says Ray. “Uh, cool.” He quickly steps forward and falls in line with the Ways, leaning against the wall between them before he loses his nerve.

Gerard shakes the hair out of his face and reaches into his ridiculously deep coat pocket -- he’s wearing an open gray trench coat about to his knees, and underneath is a Grateful Dead shirt and loose, worn jeans. He pulls out a mostly-empty pack of cigarettes and immediately lights one. He silently offers the pack to Ray.

Dammit, Ray should have prepared for this. He just sort of stares at it, red and white against Gerard’s pale, gloveless hands. The ground is frosty. Gerard must be cold.

“Want one?” Gerard asks, shaking it, oblivious to his inner turmoil.

Ray thinks of his parents, imagines their faces if they found out, remembers the time he broke a guitar string and they wouldn’t drive him to the store for new ones until three weeks later and wouldn’t let him go alone, even though he had the cash.

He shrugs. “Sure,” he says, and plucks one from the carton.

Gerard passes him the lighter. It takes him about five tries to get it to light, and he can feel his ears getting progressively redder with each one. “Cold fingers,” he says. Finally, Paladin pulls out his own lighter and does it himself, leaning in close and cupping the cigarette against the wind. Ray can see the individual hairs of his eyebrows. It’s really weird.

Paladin pulls away, and Ray shivers and awkwardly passes Gerard’s lighter back to him.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. Cautiously, Ray inhales.

He immediately chokes and starts coughing.

It’s nothing like he thought it would be. He assumed it would go down smooth, just like -- well, breathing. Instead it’s like sandpaper in his lungs, like trying to breathe water, and it stings his throat and burns his eyes.

Gerard laughs and pounds him on the back a couple of times, like that will help. He finally manages a breath, but that just hurts more.

There’s another hand on the back of his neck, warm and gentle. “You don’t smoke, do you?” Paladin asks, quietly amused.

Ray glances at him through watering eyes and shakes his head.

Gerard laughs again. “You don’t have to impress us, Toro,” he says.

“I’m not trying to!” Ray croaks, but it’s like Gerard doesn’t even hear him.

“We’re impressed enough that you wanted to hang out back here.”

He finally gets to the point of breathing normally, which is a huge relief. “Of course I want to hang out with you,” says Ray. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, we’re mean and we smell bad,” says Gerard. He looks completely earnest, staring at Ray with those big, red-rimmed eyes and his nose runny and pink from the cold.

“Oh.” Says Ray. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to respond to that without insulting anybody. The Ways _do_ smell kind of bad, but he doesn’t mind that much. “Why don’t you sit with me and Frank?” He asks.

Gerard shrugs and neither of them answer. It’s then that Ray realizes he’s still holding the smoking cigarette. He considers taking another drag, but isn’t sure he wants to go through that again. Apparently Paladin can read his mind, because he snatches it from Ray’s hand and stubs it out on his too-tight jeans, tossing it into the snow where it fizzles for a moment.

“Sorry,” says Ray.

Paladin nods. “It’s cool.”

* * *

He’s a few minutes late to first period because he doesn’t want to stop watching Mikey and Gerard smoke, but his teacher is senile so she marks him on time anyway.

He has study hall with Frank every other day: basically, they’re supposed to sit and do homework while the teacher reads Maxim or whatever it is he’s doing up there. The worst part is, they’re not allowed to even _talk_ to each other, so he and Frank end up sitting next to each other and passing notes and giggling and getting yelled at the entire time. It’s Ray’s worst subject, despite the fact that there is absolutely no learning involved.

 _I smoked with them this morning!_ Ray tells Frank, because he’s kind of inordinately proud of the fact and, come on, it’s the sort of thing Frank deserves to know.

 _you’re obviously a badass now_ Frank writes back.

Ray tries to glare at Frank but ends up laughing because _he smoked_! How fucking crazy is that? And then Frank starts laughing because Ray is laughing and Mr. Roberts threatens to give them detention, so they shut up, and Ray rips up the note because he’s still a little nervous about somebody finding out.

He eats salad and fries at lunch and does the science homework he didn’t do in study hall. He’s sitting there, solving for velocity when someone sits down next to him.

“Hey,” says Paladin.

Ray just sort of watches him for a minute, wondering if he’s a hallucination. Eventually, he says “I thought you were a Freshman.”

“I’m a sophomore,” says Paladin.

“How are you...” Ray grimaces. “Here?”

“Skipped gym,” he says. “I was gonna skip anyway. I’m supposed to be at the nurse.”

 _Oh_. He didn’t skip specifically to eat with Ray, of course, but it’s really damn cool that he wants to eat with Ray anyway.

Except, they don’t end up eating because Paladin immediately gets up, grabs Ray’s tray and dumps it in the garbage, gesturing for Ray to follow.

“What?” Ray asks. Paladin is standing in the doorway, waiting for him. He doesn’t answer.

This sucks. Ray was actually sort of hungry. Regardless, he crams his homework back in his bag and follows him.

“Where are we going?” He asks, falling in stride with Paladin.

Paladin doesn’t answer, but he smiles a little bit and grabs Ray’s hand, which is -- okay, it’s really weird and it makes Ray feel all warm and shivery at the same time. The Ways are weird all around.

Paladin leads him out the back door in the music department. They come out near the dumpster again. Ray doesn’t have his coat anymore, so he’s basically freezing his ass off, but then again Paladin doesn’t have a coat either and he seems to be doing just fine. And it _is_ warmer now; the sun is white and high above the trees, the only blemish in a clear, gray-blue winter sky. Everything is dazzlingly bright. The snow has turned to slush in some places, but the drifts are still piled high, and they reflect light in flashes and sparkles. It doesn’t look real out here, more like a photograph.

It takes Ray a few minutes to realize that they’re still walking, and his photograph now includes his entire school shrinking into the distance. Only then does he get nervous.

“Where are we going?” He asks again.

“My house,” says Paladin, flicking his hair out of his face.

Ray gasps in horror. “We can’t _leave_!” He says. “There’s three more periods to go!”

Paladin shrugs. “I thought we could play N64 or something. Do you not wanna?”

“No,” says Ray. “I want to!” Which is true. He _really_ fucking wants to play N64 with Paladin. It’s just, he _can’t_.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“My parents check my attendance,” he says. “They’ll murder me. They will.”

“Oh,” says Paladin. He frowns.

They’re in the middle of the sidewalk, only about fifty yards from the school. Paladin’s glasses are so reflective that Ray can’t see his eyes.

“Do you wanna hang out inside, then?” Paladin asks.

Ray takes a deep breath. The air is cold and crisp and starting to hurt his throat. “Yeah.”

“Okay, cool,” says Paladin, and he turns around and starts walking back toward the school. He doesn’t apologize.

Wow. Ray feels almost _dirty_ \-- he’s never actually left the building during the day, not that he can recall. It’s exhilarating. He doesn’t even _know_ this guy!

They end up back in the cafeteria, at Ray’s safe little corner table with the friendly, familiar _fuck you_ s carved into the surface. Paladin is rifling through his thin messenger back -- how does he fit his books in there? -- and on the table he places an instruction manual, a few papers, a pen, and a handful of dice.

“Wanna make a decent character now?” He asks.

* * *

Paladin shows him exactly what to do, and he writes everything down, leaving Ray to roll the dice and make a few simple decisions. He’s a lot more patient than Gerard, and he doesn’t laugh when Ray asks why he can’t be a fighter now (he doesn’t have enough strength) or what the difference is between a PC and an NPC (the NPCs are all Gerard.)

Ray ends up with the bard he wanted. He names it Fallow, because Paladin said he could name it and he thinks Fallow is a good name for a bard.

“Wanna do Friday this week?” Paladin asks.

 _I’ve gotta ask my mom,_ Ray thinks. “Sure,” Ray says.

He sees Gerard again in Lit and tells him that Mikey wants to play D&D Friday, in case he didn’t already know. They don’t get to chat for long, but Gerard sort of smiles at him whenever their eyes meet and Ray can’t help but think it’s because _Ray smoked with him, holy shit!_ That means they’re like, bonded now. They’re _bros_.

Mrs. Hannigan passes back tests, and Ray gets an eighty-five on his, which is about what he was expecting. He doesn’t know exactly what Gerard gets, but Gerard smiles when he first sees his paper so Ray assumes it’s good.

* * *

He asks his mom about Friday night as soon as he gets in the car, because the earlier he asks the more likely it is that she’ll let him.

She sighs in that put-upon, Ray’s-mom sort of way and asks, “What will you kids be doing?”

 _Heroin. Crack. Each other. What do you fucking think we’ll be doing?_ That’s what Ray wants to say. Instead, he says, “Probably playing video games. Frank wants to work on some guitar stuff with me.” Ray immediately regrets saying this, because now he has to take his guitar to Frank’s house Friday, and then Frank will be all like _let’s show Gerard that one song we’ve been doing!_ And Ray will have to convince him that it’s a bad idea; it’s not ready; nobody wants to listen to two asshole teenagers play guitar when they could be killing dragons and eating chocolate chip cookies.

It appeases his mom, at least, and she says she’ll drive and pick him up around nine.

The rest of the night, Ray is extra nice to his parents. He eats all of the disgusting leftover tuna helper, he does the dishes, and he stays downstairs in the living room when he practices guitar, because his parents insist that it’s nice having him down there, even if they don’t really pay attention to him. Ray wants an electric, but the nice part about having an acoustic is he can play Megadeth and his parents don’t care.

* * *

Ray has only just sat down in the cafeteria the next morning when, to his amazement, the Ways stumble in from the cold. Gerard tracks snow all the way to their corner leaving wet, muddy footprints in his wake, and they both sit down, Paladin grabbing a chair from a nearby vacant table.

He ends up sandwiched between the two of them. They both smell like smoke and coffee -- Christ, they’re not even trying to cover it up, are they?

“Hey,” says Gerard.

Frank quirks an eyebrow. “Gracing us with your presence this morning?”

Paladin shrugs. “It’s freezing.”

“Oh, you just now noticed?”

But Paladin isn’t paying attention anymore. Instead, he’s busy rifling through Ray’s open backpack, pulling out books and stacking them on the table.

“Dude, what the hell?” Frank asks, but Paladin ignores him.

Ray thinks about saying something, but then again, it’s Paladin. He’s weird, but he’s not hurting anybody.

“I didn’t know you took Art,” Paladin says, examining Ray’s copy of _Fundamentals of Design_. “What period?”

“Uh, last,” says Ray. “But don’t think we’ve ever opened that book, cause we haven’t.”

“I read it,” Gerard cuts in.

Paladin spares him a brief glance. Frank giggles. “Of course you have,” says Paladin.

He continues snooping in silence while Frank and Gerard strike up a conversation about some chick’s house party this weekend, and _she’s a total bitch, but I heard there’s gonna be booze_ and Ray doesn’t particularly care. Paladin finally pulls out _The Black Pearl_.

“I love Hamill,” he says quietly.

Ray sort of turns away. He doesn’t say anything.

“Obviously, y’know, Luke in the trilogy and stuff, but I think he’s a good writer,” he continues. “I didn’t know you even read comics.”

“I don’t usually,” Rays says. “I skimmed this one, I guess. But I bought it for the cover.” It feels really strange to say -- it’s like buying a cake for the plastic flotsam on top -- but Paladin seems interested, or at least not condescending. “I’m replicating it in watercolors for art.” This is only sort of a lie. He is technically replicating it in watercolors, and he is going to show it to his art teacher, but he’s not exactly getting graded on it.

Paladin just says, “Cool,” and then he starts replacing all the books in the wrong order. Ray keeps them in order so the one he needs is always at the front, but Paladin doens’t know that. Maybe it doesn’t matter. And then Paladin is talking about the stupid party Friday night and Ray is reduced to watching him and his brother, the way their smiles sync up.

He sits alone at lunch, secretly hoping Paladin will skip gym again, but he doesn’t. Ray looks around for Gerard, even checking out by the dumpsters, but even though they should logically have the same lunch, he’s nowhere to be found. It’s okay. Ray does homework. He never has to do anything at home, because he always gets it done at lunch.

Gerard is in Lit, of course, so it’s not like he got sick and left during lunch. He’s bent over some sort of notebook, totally engrossed. Shit, Ray should just ask him. And he’s going to, he really is, but then the lecture starts and he has to sit down. He thinks about passing notes, but he’s too far away. Plus, Gerard would think he was weird if he just started chucking balls of paper at his head.

He’s going to ask the next day, too, but Gerard seems really busy with whatever he’s doing in that notebook. Then it’s Friday, and he’s going to see Gerard after school anyway so it doesn’t matter.

Frank, Bob and Paladin are already waiting for him on the steps. They’re leaning against the railing, and all the normal kids are giving them a pretty decent breadth -- Ray can’t help but smile. Frank waves enthusiastically as soon as he sees him. Frank’s a dork.

“How’s it going?” Ray asks.

“Good,” says Bob. Ray doesn’t know Bob too well -- last game, he didn’t say a lot. He thinks Bob might be a senior, just because he’s never seen him around school.

Paladin just nods in response, and then pushes his glasses up his nose, only to have them slowly slide down again. He’s in the same ratty pair of skinny jeans he always wears, and a striped gray and black hoodie. It’s way too cold for that; Ray shivers just thinking about it. The snow has shown no sign of melting since its brief journey to slush and back again early in the week, and now it’s piling up on top of a thin layer of ice. Ray just about kills himself slipping every time he goes outside. He’s not cold, though. Hell no. He has a giant, ugly green down jacket, and he’s nice and toasty. He still hasn’t gotten back the one he lent Paladin, but his mom hasn’t noticed yet, so it’s fine.

Gerard doesn’t show up until almost everybody has left. He shoulders open the door, stacks of books in his arms, mostly-empty backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Sorry!” He says as soon as he’s within earshot. “Bennington tried to take my fucking manuals. Don’t worry though; I got ‘em back.”

Paladin rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot,” he says.

“I didn’t _fight_ him,” Gerard says as he begins stuffing the books into his bag. “Mrs. Hannigan was right there. She made him give them back.”

“Shit,” says Paladin. “He’s gonna kill you now.”

Gerard zips his bag. “What,” he deadpans. “You wanna play D&D without manuals?”

“You probably could,” Paladin mutters under his breath. “You know all the stats by heart.”

“Nuh uh,” Gerard says. Behind him, Bob is subtly ushering them to start walking. “Not the bosses and stuff. You guys can fight Kobolds for the rest of your life if you want.” He huffs. “He’s not even that big! I could totally take Bennington. He’s a scrawney little dickbag.”

They walk to Frank’s house, and it’s cold, but it’s not far. Ray told his parents that Gerard’s dad was going to drive. It took a lot of convincing, but they agreed eventually. He couldn’t have used Frank’s mom, because he knows his mom would call her and confirm. It makes him so mad -- they have no reason not to trust Ray, but they never do, regardless.

Walking home is awesome, even if they spend the whole time talking about that Bennington guy and how he’s a flaming shitcamel. Ray doesn’t know him. Judging by Frank’s description, he doesn’t want to.

Frank’s house looks different in the snow -- not that it hasn’t been snowing that last couple times Ray has visited, but now it’s the icy kind of snow. There are tiny icicles hanging from the garage awning, and huge ones from the tool shed. Ray’s dad says the bigger the icicles, the weaker the roof. By that logic, Frank’s shed is about to collapse in on itself.

“You could use those things as swords,” Ray says.

“Huh?” Says Gerard, who was busy trying not to slip on the sidewalk. Frank gets it immediately, though, because Frank and Ray have been friends long enough that they can read each other’s minds -- or, Frank reads Ray’s mind from experience. Ray reads Frank’s mind because Frank is a simple, juvenile creature.

Before Ray has a chance to grab him, Frank has two hands on the largest icicle. With an ear-splitting _crack_ , he detaches it from the shed and wields it triumphantly. It’s almost as tall as Frank is. Even as a sword, it’s way too big.

“ _Awesome_ ,” says Gerard, quickly throwing down his bag and scurrying over to grab the second-largest. Pretty soon, they’re having a full on, balls-out swordfight. Except, icicles are actually _sharp_. Hasn’t Frank ever seen _A Christmas Story_? He turns to Paladin for support, but he already has his digital camera out and is taking pictures.

“They’re going to kill themselves!” Ray says.

They don’t, though, because Frank accidentally holds his sword too high, and it snaps against the roof. Before he has the chance to reach for another one, Bob has an arm around him and is dragging him inside. Behind them, Gerard dejectedly drops his icicle.

Ray and Paladin exchange a brief smile. They know their boys.

Frank’s mom has made pumpkin bread from the preserves she froze in autumn. Ray’s reluctant to try it, but Frank sort of ends up shoving a handful in Ray’s mouth, and it turns out to be great -- nothing like normal bread, or normal pumpkin for that matter. The best part is that they’re warm and the butter melts, and Frank’s mom gives them bottles of ginger ale, like it’s the goddamn twenties or whatever.

And of course, Frank suggests they stop at the tavern in Fallcrest (“You aren’t _in_ Fallcrest; you’re in Hallowshire.”) and then Bob tries to hit on the hot elven barmaid. That’s how Gerard actually describes her -- “In the corner is a rowdy old drunkard. Behind the bar is a hot elven barmaid, with a dragonleather cincher and tits popping out all over the place.”

Paladin snorts. “I don’t think they called them tits in medieval times.”

“Her waterskins are popping out all over the place,” Gerard corrects.

And then Bob has to roll about a billion charisma checks while he talks to her, most of which he fails because he didn’t even consider charisma when he was building his character. He thinks Gerard is maybe setting the DC really high, because he doesn’t want to narrate for her while she bones Bob. Gerard’s voice for the elf chick is really funny sounding, so Ray’s also glad she rejects him.

“A toast,” Paladin says, “to elven manner.”

They click their bottles together.

* * *

“Where are you going?” Gerard asks.

Ray turns back in surprise, coat already half on, boots at the ready. “Home?” He says uncertainly.

“Aren’t you coming to the party?” He asks.

He hesitates. The jacket hangs limply from his left shoulder. “What party?”

Gerard sighs. “I don’t know, maybe the one we’ve been _talking about all week_. Brittany Leone’s party. That one.”

“Oh,” says Ray. “What time would I be home?”

Frank snorts, surprising both of them. “Tomorrow,” he says.

“Yeah man, you should come,” Bob says. He’s cleaning up the board, because Gerard’s a shitty DM and never helps.

Ray turns away, face growing warm. It’s not that he doesn’t want to.

Then Paladin speaks up. “It’s going to be boring without you,” he says quietly.

Very slowly, Ray shucks off his jacket and turns back to the group. He replaces the coat on the hook. “I could maybe call my mom and tell her I’m sleeping over here.” It’s only about fifty-fifty she’ll say yes. She usually lets him sleep over at Frank’s place, but she also doesn’t know Bob or the Ways and is probably scared they’ll steal his kidneys.

Frank leaps up and scampers off to the kitchen, so Ray dutifully follows. They all crowd around him while the line rings, Gerard literally breathing down his neck. He smells like pumpkins, but that’s not nearly as appealing as Ray thought it would be. Nervously, Ray twists the cord around his finger.

“Hello?”

“Hi mom,” Ray says. “It’s me.”

“Oh, you forgot your guitar!” It’s the first thing she says. She never forgets anything, Christ.

“Yeah,” Ray says. He can use this. “That’s actually why I called. Uh, Gerard and Bob and them are all leaving, but Frank’s really bummed that we didn’t get to practice. He was wondering if maybe I could stay the night, just us, and instead of picking me up you could bring my guitar and toothbrush and stuff?”

* * *

“No, you can’t just be on your way out,” Ray hisses. “Go! Hide! Go sit in the bathroom and be quiet.”

“They could just use my room,” Frank suggests, but Gerard scoffs. Maybe it’s not romantic enough for him.

“Whatever,” says Ray, “as long as you’re out of the way. She’s pulling up!”

The drop off goes off without a hitch. Ray feels like a fucking super spy. Frank even sidles out of the kitchen and casually thanks Mrs. Toro for being so accommodating. _Partners in crime_.

“Of course,” she says. Ray’s mom seems to like Frank, probably because he’s polite to adults. Ray knows better, of course – he’s a childish, hyperactive, obnoxious little shit. That’s okay though, because Ray’s mom likes the Frank she sees and Ray likes the Frank he hangs out with. Everybody wins.

Ray tosses his shit on the couch and follows Frank to the bathroom, where--

“Why are you in my shower?” Frank asks. Over Frank’s shoulder, Ray sees Bob poke his head out from behind the curtain.

“Hiding,” he says.

“How did you all fit?”

There’s a bit of shuffling around, and the three of them tumble out of the stall, Paladin first. “I sat on Gerard,” he says.

Gerard gives him a reproachful glare.

“ _What_ ,” says Paladin.

“We were hiding,” Gerard repeats. He pauses, flips his hair out of his face, and struts past Ray into the living room.

Frank elbows Ray and raises his eyebrows, like, _so heterosexual_. Ray smiles.

According to Frank, the group has always considered Gerard pretty unambiguously gay. Seriously, his mom does his roots every couple of weeks. He had pink streaks in his hair for a good bit of his Sophomore year -- come to think of it, Ray remembers that. He never made the connection to Gerard, but he remembers some guy with pink streaks and eyeliner. Belleville High is pretty big, so Ray only ever bumped into him two or three times, but he made an impression.

* * *

Frank’s room has a decent-sized window, and his house is single-story, but Frank can’t for the life of him figure out how to pop the screen out. He ends up punching through it in frustration.

“Uh, fuck,” says Bob.

Frank is standing there, ghostly white in the passing headlights, staring at his hand as if it has wronged him. Hell, it sort of did wrong him, a little bit, but this seems to be pretty solidly Frank’s fault. “She won’t notice tonight,” Frank says. “But I have no clue how to fix it.”

Bob raises his hand.

Frank pulls a small smile. “Yes, Bob?”

“Swap it with one of the basement windows,” he says.

Immediately, Frank looks to the group for confirmation, and the group looks right back. “Your house, dude,” says Gerard.

“Yeah,” Frank says. He’s pulling this hilarious scrunched-up face, like he always does when he’s thinking. It’s as if he can’t concentrate without trying to turn himself inside-out. “That should work,” he says at last. “They’re the same size.”

There’s another round of glances and raised eyebrows, and the whole time Ray’s thinking _holy shit holy shit I’m sneaking out_. Then Gerard steps forward and quietly pops the screen out of the window.

“What the fuck?” Frank asks, incredulous.

Gerard shrugs.

“What the actual fuck?”

Ray can drive, but Gerard has a car. It’s a beat-up old Chrysler, and it’s already parked down the block.

“When did you have time to do that?” Ray asks.

“Yesterday,” says Gerard. “Drove it here after school and hung out with Frank.”

“Didn’t your parents notice?”

Gerard shrugs again. “Not really.”

And it is seriously fucking cool riding with Gerard. The house is only a couple of streets over, but there’s nobody out so they roll down all the windows and stick their heads out. It’s freezing. None of them remembered to bring a coat, though Ray might not have fit out the window with his. So it’s cold, but the drive is short and their destination is easy to find.

The house is a two story Tudor, elegant but quaint. It’s the sort of place Ray’s mom might like to retire. The host seems to be keeping it low-key -- there are no druggies on the front lawn, no lights or blaring speakers outside, though maybe everything’s indoors because it’s so bitter cold. Still, it’s easy to spot because the lights are on and at least fifteen cars have gathered out front, or, failing that, at least parked sort of possibly near the house.

Ray’s the last to get out. He’s suddenly nervous. Is this one of those parties he’s seen in movies, with loads of hot chicks and douchy guys grinding?

Maybe Gerard senses his anxiety, because he places a reassuring hand on Ray’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine,” he says. “Just don’t pick any fights, and keep an eye on Frankie.”

As soon as Gerard splits, Ray corners Bob and relegates Frank Duty to him. Bob grimaces but accepts the burden, and then he has to go find Frank, who has already disappeared, leaving Paladin and Ray alone.

It turns out to be better than he thought it would. The chicks turn out to be way worse than he though they would be, but that’s because he’s basically never seen a hot chick in person, and the cosmos are seeing to it that he never does. Sure, there are supposedly attractive girls at school, but they’re not what Ray would call _cultivated_.

Maybe the other guys at the party don’t seem them as cultivated either, because nobody is dancing to the awful techno blaring from the surround-sound. Guys crowd around the keg, talking and refilling their drinks. Girls huddle on the couch and hang in doorways and at the edge of social circles, flirting and occasionally drinking. Judging by the size of that keg, the girls probably have the right idea.

“I’ll get them,” Paladin says. Ray looks up to ask what he’s talking about, but by that time Paladin is already at the keg, two red plastic cups in hand. There’s quite a crowd.

The place smells of smoke and alcohol, obviously, but there’s also a soft undertone of hardwood, paper. Like a library, or at least a kickass book-burning party. He spots Gerard in the kitchen, talking to a girl with extremely tall boots. No sign of Frank or Bob, but maybe that’s a good thing. Hopefully they haven’t broken anything yet.

“See anybody you know?” Paladin asks. He passes Ray a dangerously full cup. Ray takes it but doesn’t drink, watching it slosh around instead. Perhaps realizing he’s not going to answer, Paladin dips down and takes a sip off the top of Ray’s drink.

“Come here,” he says. “Let’s sit down.”

He plops down on the arm of an already-full couch, forcing Ray to lean awkwardly against the wall. And Paladin just fucking _talks_ to people. Ray has no clue how he does it. And Paladin introduces him to people, and Ray nods politely, and Paladin mentions him in conversation, and Ray nods politely, and Paladin looks in his direction, and Ray nods politely and stands against that fucking wall.

“You haven’t touched your beer,” Paladin says after awhile, when his conversational partner -- a chick with long brown hair and nothing to say -- leaves to refill her drink.

Ray shrugs.

“Do you not want it?” He asks.

“I don’t know,” says Ray. “I’ve never really been to a party with beer before.”

He’s fully expecting Paladin to scoff and tell him to stop being a pussy, but he doesn’t. Instead, he gives Ray this funny look, biting his lip and squinting a little bit, and says, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Asks Ray.

“Well, yeah,” Paladin says. “You don’t have to drink if you don’t wanna. I mean, you’re in our fuckin’ D&D group. You don’t have to pretend to be cool.”

And Ray smiles, just a little bit.

“Want a soda?” Asks Paladin.

That’s how Paladin ends up drinking his beer, which is fortunate for Paladin because the keg runs out about an hour after they get there, even though it’s _huge_ , and the guys standing around it are forced to disperse and drink cans of Miller Lite. Ray has a Coke.

The next time Paladin starts talking to an objectively attractive girl, Ray tells him he’s going to look for Frank. Ray is not particularly interested in Frank’s drunken shenanigans and was actually planning to wander around, but then he trips.

“What the fuck?” Frank asks, scrambling to his feet.

“I should be asking you that,” says Ray. “What are you _doing_?”

They’re in a study of some sort, with bookshelves filled more with porcelain cats than with books. There’s a desk too, a pretty nice computer, and Frank, lying face-down on the knockoff Persian rug.  
“He’s evesdropping,” says Bob. Bob is sitting in the computer chair, spinning. He looks almost as entertained as Frank.

“I’m listening to the party downstairs,” Frank says, returning to his position on the floor. He presses his ear to the rug. “See?”

“Cool,” says Ray. He doesn’t ask if Frank has been drinking, but it doesn’t really matter because this is the sort of thing Frank would happily do sober. “I’m just going to go look around some more.”

He finds two bathrooms, takes a piss in one of them, and washes his hands in the other, just because he can. There are two other rooms upstairs, minus the study. Both are bedrooms. He gives the first a cursory glance and gets bored. He’ll check out the other one and then go find Paladin. He hopes Paladin is done talking to that bimbo. The guy has no taste.

The second door is closed. A sock hangs limply from the handle -- maybe somebody got really drunk and lost it? His heart goes out to the poor sap missing a sock in fifteen degree weather. Ray gingerly removes it and tosses it into the middle of the hallway.

Ray opens the door.

It takes Ray a moment to comprehend what he’s seeing. It shouldn’t take any time at all -- they’re facing the door, the guy’s head hanging off the foot of the bed, the girl’s face screwed up in concentration, black hair dripping down her shoulders. It’s just, Ray had already formed some opinions about Gerard.One specific opinion: Gerard likes _boys_.

Gerard’s eyes lock with his. He looks blissed out, face flushed and sweaty, eyes lidded, and he doesn’t say anything or make much effort to look away. Thankfully, Gerard’s junk is obscured by the girl’s... parts.

Ray closes the door.

The other bedroom -- the boring one -- turns out to be a great place for Ray to process trauma and rethink his life, and stuff. He flops down on the floral bedspread and tries not to think about Gerard’s boner in that chick -- he really, really doesn’t want to think about Gerard that way, ever. Gerard is his DM. His Friend With a Car. His smoking buddy, sort of.

He closes his eyes and thinks of innocent things: babies, grandmas, cats, puppies, bunnies, bunnies fucking, Gerard fucking -- ew.

When he opens his eyes again, he’s not alone. Paladin is standing at the foot of the bed, watching him levelly. Ray just about pisses himself.

“What the hell?” He says, sitting bolt upright.

Paladin shrugs. “Got bored. You napping, or what?”

Ray shakes his head. Should he even tell Paladin? It would probably be way weirder for him, because Gerard is his DM _and_ his brother.

Then Paladin sits down next to him -- he’s a goddamn skeleton, so the bed barely sags -- and says, “You walked in on Gee, didn’t you?”

His eyes widen. “You saw too?” Ray asks.

“They’re not exactly being subtle about it,” says Paladin. “I just heard through the door. Gerard’s sex noises are... distinctive.”

Ray furrows his brow.

“He moans like a prostitute, is what I’m saying.”

In the end, Ray just gives up on not thinking about it. He flops back onto the bed as images of Gerard’s pale, jiggly body fill his mind. “How does this not bother you?” He asks.

“It bothers me,” says Paladin. “But I grew up with him. He used to jerk off to my Fangoria subscription when he thought I was asleep.”

Ray doesn’t know what Fangoria is, but he nods gravely because whatever it is, it’s still gross.

“Don’t think about him, though,” says Paladin. He lies back to talk to Ray face to face. His breath smells like cheap beer, but it’s kind of comforting. He’s not staggering drunk, so that’s nice, though he could just be really good at hiding it.

“When’re we going home?” Ray asks.

“Are you having a bad time?”

Ray laughs, short and sharp. He startles himself. “I’m snooping around somebody’s bedroom. Does it look like I’m having a good time?”

There’s a long moment of silence. Paladin’s voice is quiet when he next speaks. “Sorry I dragged you here,” he says. “I know you don’t really know anybody.”

Ray is immediately hit by a tidal wave of guilt. “No, no, don’t be sorry. I decided to come. It wasn’t because of you!” But that is apparently also a wrong answer, because Paladin’s face falls further and he turns to face the ceiling.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Uh.” Ray doesn’t know what to think. “No? Unless you want to?”

But Paladin doesn’t say anything, looking everywhere but Ray’s face.

Ray watches the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and imagines the ribcage underneath, expanding slightly with each breath. His gut clenches.

“I’m sorry,” Ray says at last. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“Nothing,” says Paladin.

Ray waits for Paladin to look at him, but he doesn’t. His lips are drawn tight. It dawns on him that maybe Paladin is trying to say something, but he can’t. Ray watches him breathe.

Carefully, he lays a hand on Paladin’s chest. His ribcage becomes distinctly less imaginary. “Do you wanna talk about something?” And it’s stupid, and stupidly worded, and Ray immediately regrets saying it, but then Paladin looks at him again.

“Is it not obvious?” He asks.

“Um.” Ray looks around, as if the TV stand will give him answers. “Not really.”

Paladin looks at him like _how do you even dress yourself, you massive idiot._ “I like you,” he says.

It’s a complete non-sequitur. Ray squints at him. “I like you too,” he says.

“No,” says Paladin.

Then Paladin kisses him.

It’s soft and quick and warm, and it’s not quite what Ray expected his first kiss to feel like. Maybe he’s old-fashioned, but he sort of thought it would be with a girl, for one.

Not that kissing Paladin is _bad_.

Paladin pulls away and finally looks him in the eye. His lips are tight again, like he’s concentrating really hard on something. On Ray.

“Oh,” says Ray. The word bounces around the room ineffectively.

And Paladin just watches him while he tries and fails to think. Ray’s mind is totally blank. He has no precedent for this. And he knows that this, this moment, is probably _really_ important. He just doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

“So?” Asks Paladin.

Ray looks at him.

Paladin looks back. “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

“Oh,” Ray says again. He doesn’t remember how sentences work right now. “Uh, yeah. I do.” And to Ray’s surprise, he does.

A smile breaks across Paladin’s face, wide and bright, and Ray realizes it’s the first time he’s seen Paladin really smile. Ray smiles too, uncertainly. Paladin leans in to kiss him again.

“Wait!” Ray says, suddenly sitting up in realization.

To Paladin’s credit, he doesn’t freak out. Instead he sits up too, slow and measured. “What?”

“I don’t know your name!” Ray says. “Nobody ever told me!”

Paladin looks down at his feet, and then back to Ray. “Fuckin’ seriously?”

“Well, Frank might have mentioned it like once,” says Ray. “But I forgot. I’ve just been calling you Paladin in my head.”

“Wow,” says Paladin. “That’s fucked up.”

They stare at each other, and then they both start laughing at the same moment. It’s not that funny, not really, but it relieves the tension and Paladin is maybe a bit drunk, and Ray thinks he might be drunk from proximity.

“Mikey,” Paladin chokes. “I’m Mikey.”

“Hi,” Ray smiles. “I’m Ray.”

“Yeah,” says Mikey. “I know, dipshit.”

Ray honestly thought they were going to, like, have sex, but they don’t. He’s a bit disappointed but mostly relieved because he barely understands straight sex, let alone whatever he and Mikey are supposed to do. Instead, they lie on the bed for another half hour at least, getting used to each other. Mikey rolls on top of Ray, and, when he works up the courage, Ray rolls on top of Mikey and pins him to the bed. They kiss, quick and chaste.

Then Gerard walks in on them.

* * *

“Lets agree to spare the details,” says Frank. “You guys are even.”

Gerard raises a hand in objection. “Actually, I still got laid and they still didn’t.”

Mikey snorts. “Yeah, but you’re probably not going to see your lady friend again.” He wraps an arm possessively around Ray’s shoulders. “Mine is right here.”

Ray squirms in embarrassment and his face goes warm, but maybe that’s the space heater.

“She gave me her number!” Gerard protests.

“No,” says Frank. He points at Gerard, then at Mikey. “No more talking about it. This is my house, and I’m officially declaring it a sex-free zone.”

The rest of them bust out laughing. Bob pats Frank on the back. “You do realize what you just did, right?”

And Frank must not have a witty comeback queued up, because he just huffs and crosses his arms. He’s smiling, of course, because he’s Frank.

After that, Bob and Mikey decide to sneak into the kitchen and get chips, and in the ensuing chaos, Frank hops onto the bed and starts kicking Ray in the back of the head. Ray gives in and sits next to him.

“It’s crazy,” says Frank.

Ray props up a pillow and leans against the headboard. “What?” He asks.

Frank shrugs. “You. I guess I just never thought you liked dick.”

“Ew,” Ray says immediately, because _ew_. “I don’t like Mikey for his dick!” Actually, he’s not quite sure why he likes Mikey. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he won’t like Mikey tomorrow, and then everything will be ruined and he won’t be able to hang out with the Ways anymore and Frank will call him a faggot forever and everyone will hate him because Mikey seems to know everyone and he will probably tell _everyone--_

“It’s okay if you do,” says Frank. “I’m sure it’s a very nice dick.”

Ray just looks at him, because he knows anything he says can and will be used against him. “It’s only been like two hours,” he says eventually. “You can’t try to have a serious talk with me right now.”

Frank laughs. “Have I ever had a serious talk with you?” He tousles Ray’s hair, which is dumb because Frank is _dumb_ and holy shit, Ray has a boyfriend and what is he even supposed to _do_?

And then Mikey and Bob get back with the food, and also sodas in case Gerard feels like throwing up something other than pure alcohol in the morning. Gerard seems to be the only one of them who is actually drunk, judging by the way he’s lounging under the bed, giggling quietly. Or maybe it’s because he had sex. Ray’s not sure.

It’s a little past one right now. The car is parked down the block. Ray convinced Gerard to let him drive since Gerard was (is) so obviously out of it, and he didn’t technically have his lisence _on_ him but it was only a couple of streets, and at least he wasn’t drunk. The walk back to the house was freezing. Nobody had a coat.

The room is nice and warm now though, and Ray’s hoping he doesn’t get the couch because he wants to sleep in here. Ray does not deal well with the cold, hence the giant puffy jacket. And he can’t sleep in that. He and Frank seem to realize it at the same time: there is one double bed in Frank’s room, one queen sized pullout couch, and too many damn people.

“Dibs on the bedroom,” says Frank.

“ _Dammit_ ,” Ray says. “I was about to call dibs!”

“But _I_ called dibs. Plus it’s my house, so my dibs override your dibs.” He and Frank have shared the same bed before (in a totally heterosexual way) but they both know that it’s not panning out that way this time. Maybe the Ways would have shared the couch had Ray not slept over and screwed everything up.

“Um,” Ray says, having officially given up on figuring out how to override Frank’s dibs.

Frank gets it. “I think he might actually be asleep right now,” he says.

Ray leans over the side of the bed and peers underneath. Sure enough, Gerard is curled up in a ball, eyes closed, mouth open. “How did he even get under there?” Ray asks. More importantly: “How’s he gonna get out?”

Frank smiles. “We’ll dislocate his arms in the morning. Just leave him for now.”

Ray watches Gerard sleep for a second before realizing how incredibly creepy that is and sitting back on the bed. “You tired?” He asks Frank. Normally they would be watching movies this time of night, but it doesn’t seem like the right thing to do. He can’t go back to just hanging out with everybody, not yet.

“Sure,” says Frank. He turns to Bob and Mikey, who are leaning against the door, talking and eating. “You tired?” He asks them, unnecessarily loud. Ray worries for a moment that he’ll wake Gerard, but then he remembers that Gerard is drunk.

Bob shrugs.

“Yeah,” says Mikey.

Ray seizes his opportunity. “Dibs on the couch!” He says.

“Dammit,” says Bob. “I was gonna call dibs.”

Ray grins. “Too late. See you losers tomorrow.” He wonders where Bob is going to sleep, but when he gets up, Mikey immediately follows him, and suddenly he doesn’t give a shit about Bob or anybody else. Bob can sleep in the goddamn dishwasher for all he cares.

The futon is in the living room, which is, unfortunately, closer to Frank’s parents’ room than Ray would like. He would have had more privacy had he called Frank’s bed, but whatever. It’s better than sleeping _under_ Frank’s bed.

They’re as quiet as they can be, pulling out the couch. He doesn’t even have to say a word before Mikey is on the other side, picking up the slack like they’ve rehearsed this. The thing is old and squeaky and the the bedspread is a horrible plaid, but it’s soft as hell and Ray has to resist the urge to just bellyflop.

They watch each other, each daring the other to get in first.

“You gonna change?” Mikey asks.

Ray thinks about it. “My bag is in Frank’s room still.” He pauses, and then takes off his jeans. Frank’s room is only a few paces away, but he wants to see how far he can take this.

Pretty far, apparently. Mikey just shrugs, removes his own jeans and crawls under the covers.

As soon as Ray follows suit, Mikey rolls on top of him and braces his elbows on either side of Ray’s head. It’s the weirdest feeling, their legs rubbing together. Ray hasn’t ever touched any, but he knows that girls’ legs are supposed to be soft, and Mikey’s are nothing like that. Mikey feels like, well, a guy. And that’s weird.

“You look kind of freaked out,” says Mikey. Perceptive fucker.

Ray shrugs as best he can, trapped between Mikey’s elbows. “I guess,” he says. “No pants.”

“No pants,” Mikey agrees. “Warmer this way.”

He can feel Mikey through his underwear. They’re pressed together through two flimsy layers of fabric, both soft, though Ray’s sure this position will get uncomfortable quickly if that changes. It’s surreal, but not entirely awful. Ray never gave much thought to Mikey’s dick, or anybody else’s for that matter. He’s thinking about it now. Ray guesses this means he’s gay. Probably.

He tilts his chin back, and Mikey takes this as an invitation to press their lips together -- his kisses are so gentle, so sweet, like he’s scared he’ll hurt Ray. Then he does this _thing_ , where he opens his mouth and Ray’s mouth opens along with it without his input. Mikey darts his tongue inside and quickly back out again, flicking it against the roof of Ray’s mouth.

Ray laughs in delight as he pulls away.

Mikey rolls partially off him until they’re facing each other on the bed. “Wanna sleep?” He asks.

Ray thinks about it for a moment. “Yeah,” he says.

So they do.

It’s still dark when Mikey wakes him up, save the sliver of light under Frank’s bedroom door.

“Gotta go before your parents get here,” Mikey says.

Ray rolls over and looks at him with bleary eyes, not fully comprehending. He watches Mikey bleary-eyed. “Don’t go,” he mumbles.

Mikey smiles. “Have to,” he says. He kisses Ray on the forehead and rolls out of bed, and suddenly there’s a rush of cold air and Ray has to wrap the covers around him in Mikey’s absence.

“No,” Rays groans. “Cold.”

“Yeah,” Mikey agrees. He tousles Ray’s hair. “Go back to sleep.”

“‘Kay,” says Ray.

 

He wakes up again to Frank scrambling onto the futon, disrupting the comforter and making Ray cold, again.

“Wake up! Mom’s on her way,” says Frank.

“No,” says Ray. He pulls the covers over his head.

“Yeah,” says Frank. “Get the hell up. And don’t _even_ pretend to be hung over.”

“I’m just tired,” Ray grumbles, but he begrudgingly gets out of bed, cursing Frank under his breath.

“Dude, it’s _noon_.”

“It is not.”

Frank helps him hoist the futon back into the couch. It’s like a transformer, but lame. “I bought you as much time as I could,” he says. “Bob and the Ways are already gone. I figured you and Mikey were up fucking all night.”

“We were _not_!” Ray says indignantly. “Ew!”

Frank laughs, and it’s way too loud for this hour. “Ew? What are you, straight?”

“Don’t be a jerk,” Ray says. “I don’t even know. Don’t talk to me.”

“I’ll just ask Mikey,” says Frank. “He’ll give me the details. Was it blowjobs? That’s so _nasty_!”

“We didn’t do anything,” Ray says.

Frank smiles. “Sure.”

And he’s about to defend his honor some more, but there’s a knock on the door. Ray cringes from the noise and searches for his pants. “Stall,” he hisses.

Frank salutes and runs for the door.

“Hello Mrs. Toro. Ray is in the bathroom.”

It turns out they’re stuck under the couch cushion, and once he’s got those on, Ray has to grab his stuff and pull on his coat.

“Hi mom,” he says. Just standing in the doorway is making his nose run. He realizes now why it was dark when he first woke up: there’s about a foot of snow outside. The windows are coated.

On the way out, he sees several sets of footprints leading down the street, and wonders which ones belong to Mikey.

“Did you have fun?” His mom asks.

“Yeah,” says Ray.

And so he sleeps for most of the day, waking up occasionally to wonder what Frank’s doing, what time it is, who Gerard was sleeping with. Dinner is spaghetti. His family is so bland.

He doesn’t realize his guitar is still in the trunk until Sunday morning, but his dad is already at work and there’s no way Ray can get to it. He sits around and wonders what normal people do with their free time. He wonders where his Saturday went. He trudges downstairs to get breakfast.

His mother is nowhere in sight, probably asleep or at the post office or doing some other Mom Errand, so Ray eats leftover spaghetti because it’s what he wants.

“Have you ever wondered what, like, normal people do on the weekends?”

“No,” says Frank.

Ray ignores him. “It’s like, I don’t even remember what _I_ do on the weekends. Talk to you. Play guitar. What the hell am I even _doing_?”

Frank’s snort crackles through the receiver. “Stop being so depressed. You’ll see him tomorrow.”

“It’s not about Mikey,” Ray says. He rolls his eyes. Why does Frank have to be so obsessed with Mikey? “I’m just bored.”

“Do what I do,” says Frank. “Jerk off and take a nap.”

“I slept for like a day straight,” Ray sighs. “And you’re gross. I’m hanging up.”

“No you’re not,” says Frank.  
“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh yeah?”

“You’re bored,” says Frank. “What’re you gonna do once you get off the phone?”

Ray hangs up with a triumphant sneer. He’ll figure something out.

Except, he kind of stares at the phone for a couple of minutes before realizing that maybe he should have kept talking, because there is literally nothing to do in his house. It’s not like he can leave, either, because his parents will have about two heart attacks a piece if they get home and he’s not there.

He takes a shower.

The bathroom is all steamed up when he gets out. Maybe he’s weird, but getting out of the shower is one of his favorite things, even in the winter, because his particular bathroom holds the heat really well.

He drops his towel and writes his name on the mirror, watching as it slowly fades away. Then he draws some stars in his wake, and then he draws a tank. It looks more like a school bus than anything. The best part about condensation is that it fades away, and nobody has to look at his horrible tank anymore.

He flops down naked on his bed. It feels surprisingly great -- Ray, in general, is not a very naked person, but this is pretty awesome. Fuck the system. Ray doesn’t need clothes.

At first, he’s not thinking of anything or anybody. It’s only when he realizes that his hand is on his dick that he starts feeling guilty, not because he thinks masturbation is a mortal sin or anything, but because Frank _told_ him to jerk off, and Ray hates doing what Frank says. It’s the principal of the thing. That doesn’t stop him from touching himself, of course, but it takes a second for him to stop thinking about Frank. Frank makes him feel dirty, and not in a good way.

So he tries thinking about Mikey for a little bit because it seems like the right thing to do. Mikey’s face. Mikey’s tongue. Mikey’s Paladin's Bag of Holding. It doesn’t do a whole lot for him, which just makes him more guilty. He ends up thinking about some generic naked chick, on her hands and knees, getting rammed from behind. He can’t remember where the image is from -- one of Frank’s mags, maybe?

Ray thinks that maybe he doesn’t jerk off like he’s supposed to. He’s heard guys talk about it like it’s some awesome thing, some inside joke. When Ray gets off, he looks at the pearly white ribbons dripping down his hand and thinks about his guitar, and when he’s going to get it back. It’s hard to concentrate. He’s a bad lover, even to himself. What the hell is Mikey going to think?

* * *

Something is wrong when he gets to school the next morning. He pauses in the doorway and thinks for a moment before hesitantly walking toward Frank, who is sitting alone at their corner table. Nothing unusual there.

“Hey,” says Ray, tossing his bag onto the table.

Frank glances up at him, raises his eyebrows and smiles a bit, like he and Ray are sharing some sort of joke. For the sake of not looking like an idiot, Ray plays along and smiles back.

“Tired?” Ray asks.

Frank shrugs. “Sort of. Better than I was Saturday.” Ray nods.

Suddenly, he realizes what’s wrong: the cafeteria is eerily silent.

Groups of people converge around the room, talking in low voices, glancing toward Ray’s table and quickly turning away again. He freezes when the thought hits him: _what if they’re talking about him_?

“Fuck,” says Ray.

Frank looks up at him sharply. “What the hell’s wrong with you, man?”

And Ray knows he doesn‘t swear often, but desperate times call for desperate measures. “They know, don’t they?”

“About Gerard?” Frank asks.

“What?” Ray is briefly confused. “No, no, about me and Mikey.”

He watches Frank’s shoulders visibly relax as he goes back to thumbing through his comic. “Oh, I dunno,” he says. “They probably don’t care if they do. You’re not exactly in demand around here.”

“Fuck off,” says Ray.

“ _Feisty_ , shit,” Frank laughs. “What’s gotten into you?”

Ray clenches his fists in his lap. “I don’t know. Just wondering why everybody keeps looking at me.”

And Frank chuckles and slaps his comic onto the table, resting his elbow on it. He’s never really been a collector. “Seriously?” He asks. “Dude, Ray. They’re not looking at you. They’re waiting for Gerard to get here so they can watch him get murdered.”

Ray just stares at him in confusion. He has no idea what Frank’s talking about, and it must show, because Frank sighs exactly like Ray’s mom. Like, _I can’t believe I put up with you_.

“Chad Bennington,” he says. “You know that girl Gerard fucked at the party?”

“Her name was Chad Bennington?” Ray asks.

“Jesus Christ,” says Frank. “She was _dating_ Chad Bennington. It was fucking Lindsey Balleto. I mean, she’s obviously not dating him now, but.”

“Don’t know her,” says Ray.

“Of course you don’t know her. She’s popular.”

Ray pauses. “So,” he says slowly, working things out in his head. “Gerard’s going to get his head smashed in by this Bennington guy?”

Frank smiles sarcastically. “Yep.” He picks up his book and snaps it open again.

Ray swears under his breath. “Has anybody told Gerard this?”

Frank shrugs, meaning, _probably_. But probably isn’t enough for Ray.

“I’m gonna see if I can find him before Chad does,” says Ray.

“‘Kay,” says Frank, “so long as you don’t mind getting your ass beat alongside him.” But Ray doesn’t mind, and he’s already sprinting down the hall to the music room.

He gets a few dirty looks from teachers along the way. Mrs. Hannigan is standing outside her room. Ray makes the mistake of slowing down and looking at her, and in the process he runs smack into--

“Mikey!” He hisses, steadying himself against the locker bay. “Where’s Gerard?”

Mikey looks bewildered. It must not have been a great crash, considering he’s still holding all his books, looking at Ray like his hair is on fire. “Smoking?” He says. “I grabbed the wrong book and had to switch it out, so I was just gonna go find him. What’s wrong with you?”

“Have you heard yet?” Ray pants.

“Heard what?”

“Gerard. That girl he did at the party. And they’re going to smash his head.”

Mikey places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Full sentences,” he says. “Nobody’s smashing anyone’s head.” Sensing Ray’s urgency, he shuts his locker. “I’ll come with you. You can tell me on the way.”

And Ray is off like a bullet down the hall, Mikey jogging behind him. Maybe he’s overreacting, but he feels like he’s in an action movie, and it’s not like he can stop running now. Mikey grabs him by the wrist when he skids around the next corner, and Ray almost falls back into his chest but catches himself at the last second.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” says Mikey, allowing Ray to keep up a fast walk.

“He slept with some jock’s girlfriend,” Ray says. “They’re gonna kill him.”

The color visibly drains from Mikey’s face, not that there was much color there to begin with. “Shit,” he breathes. “Do you know who it was?”

“I don’t remember the guy’s name, but the girl was Lindsey something.”

“Balleto,” Mikey supplies. “Fuckin’ _shit --_ her boyfriend is Chad Bennington. He already hates Gerard’s guts.”

“Why?” Asks Ray.

“I don’t know, because Gerard’s a loser. He probably hates you and me, too, if he knows we’re fags.”

Ray grimaces. They’re approaching the music room. “Let’s not let him find out.”

Mikey and Ray burst out of the back door, panting, only to find Gerard perched on the dumpster. He barely spares them a second glance. It’s pretty anticlimactic.

“Gerard!” Ray says.

“Ray,” says Gerard. “Hi.”

“Shit. Have you heard about Bennington yet?”

Gerard stubs out his cigarette on his jeans and flicks it into the snow. “Yeah,” he says, dismounting the dumpster like a pro. “Bob told me this morning. I was just waiting for Mikey before I left.”

“Left? To where?”

Gerard shrugs. “Home. I figured we should probably regroup. Give him time to let off some steam. Are you coming?”

Ray hesitates, and Gerard just looks at him with those impossibly dark eyes of his, nonchalant. He turns to Mikey, who cocks his head but says nothing. If he skips, his parents might find out. If he doesn’t, he’s abandoning Gerard in his time of need, and also there’s a chance he’ll get beat up just because he’s Gerard’s friend. Or worse, he’ll get beat up because word has gotten out about him and Mikey.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. Is Frank coming?”

Gerard shrugs. “If you want, you can go get him and meet the rest of us at my house.”

He barely thinks before answering. If he’s going to do this, he needs Frank. “Okay.”

“Okay,” says Gerard. “If you’re not there in half an hour, we’ll assume you’re dead.”

Ray’s not sure if he’s supposed to smile or not, because Gerard sounds completely serious. He compromises and kind of bares his teeth. “Okay,” he repeats.

Gerard and Mikey move in sync, stepping over the same snow drift. Mikey nods his goodbye. It’s amazing how willing he is to drop everything for his brother. Ray almost wishes he had that, but knowing his genes, his hypothetical brother would probably be a total dick.

And just like that, Ray’s enlisted in this super secret mission. As he re-enters the building, he realizes that he actually has to go through with this: if he doesn’t convince Frank to go, he can’t go, because he has no clue where the Ways even live. Plus, Frank is a serious morale booster. Ray won’t be able to work up the nerve without him.

First bell rings, and Ray curses. He quickly diverts his course away from the cafeteria and toward Frank’s first period class. Amazingly, he manages to catch him before he gets sucked into the vortex that is Algebra II.

“Frank! Shit!” Ray seems to speak mostly in expletives these days. “You’ve gotta come with me.”

“‘Kay,” says Frank.

He doesn’t know what to say to that. Is it really that easy?

“Let’s go,” Frank prompts. “Do I need my books?”

“Uh,” Ray stutters, “just take what you’ve got on you. We have to go to Gerard’s house.”

Frank’s face falls. “Man, it’s cold as shit. Can I get my coat?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Hurry up, and I’ll meet you behind the music room.” For the first and only time in his life, Ray is thankful that their school’s music program is so pathetically underfunded. They are currently “between teachers,” so the room is basically a glorified storage closet. Or, in their case, it’s a way out.

He has to remind himself not to sprint this time, lest someone stops him and asks where he’s supposed to be. Ray can’t deal with teachers. If he gets caught, it’s right back to first period. So he tries to be cool and act like he’s supposed to be in the halls. He’s not sure he really pulls it off, but he doesn’t get stopped, so it’s a win.

Gerard’s cigarette butt is still in the snow. Actually, when he starts really looking, he realizes that Gerard’s cigarette butts are _everywhere_. It’s like he doesn’t care if he gets caught. Maybe he doesn’t.  
Two sets of footprints lead away from the building, ending on the freshly-salted sidewalk. Ray can’t believe he’s going through with this. If his parents find out, they will literally murder him. Or, well, figuratively murder him, and then Ray will be so miserable that he’ll murder himself.

Frank bursts from the door with all the subtlety of a jet liner, bundled up in a hoodie and jacket, scarf flung ineffectively over his shoulder.

“Onward!” He declares, raising his fist to the sky.

“Yeah,” says Ray. “Anybody stop you?”

“Nope,” Frank grins. “We’re golden. Come on.” He bunny-hops over the drift, landing solidly in Gerard’s footprints. Ray carefully follows.

“It’s only about a ten minute walk,” says Frank.

“Gerard said if we weren’t there in half an hour, he’d assume we died.”

Frank shrugs. All he says is, “Gerard’s a smart guy.”

Ray’s not sure how to take that.

“So,” asks Frank. “We’re hiding out until the storm blows over?”

“Pretty much,” says Ray. “We’re regrouping.” He instinctively glances toward the sky, even though he knows Frank’s storm is metaphorical. It’s still snowing pretty hard, dark gray clouds perched on the horizon like Sauromon’s tower looming in the distance.

There are two cars parked in Gerard’s driveway: Gerard’s junker and a cherry red mini cooper. Ray tries to imagine Gerard driving it and laughs. His head would touch the damn ceiling.

The house is squat and wide with the ugliest brown siding Ray has ever seen. He and Frank approach the door, and before they’re even to the first step, Gerard’s face appears in the window, pale and sort of terrifying. Ray just about shits himself. He hovers there for a second, a ghostly visage, and then opens the door.

Ray smiles awkwardly. “Not dead,” he says.

“As far as we know,” Gerard says. “Come on in.”

Gerard’s house smells like smoke and earth. The air is slightly damp, warm but humid, and it reminds Ray of some sort of cave, maybe with a hotspring in its furthest depths. A dark, moldy retreat. And it is seriously dark, with oak beadboard and ratty old Persian-style carpets. There are two honest-to-God candelabras on the side table in the entryhall, right next to a picture of a chubby, dark-haired kid holding a slide trombone upside-down.

Gerard leads them to the kitchen, which is slightly less dreary than the rest of the house, mostly due to the open window above the sink. It’s freezing.

“Bob,” Gerard snaps. “Close that damn thing.”

Bob, who is perched on the sill, feet dangling in the empty sink, is smoking. He smiles apologetically and climbs down. Gerard, impatient, shuts the window for him.

“Sorry,” says Bob. “Habit.”

“My parents smoke in here,” says Gerard. “You can too.” He pulls out a chair -- one of many mismatched but consistently worn hardwood chairs -- from the dining table, and only then does Ray notice the extra person at the table. Next to Mikey is a girl in a white button-up shirt, her long black hair up in a ponytail. It’s the only woman Ray has ever seen naked.

Ray tries desperately to remember her name and not the way her tits bounced as she rode Gerard.

“Lindsey’s here?” Frank asks, saving him the trouble.

“Yeah,” Lindsey confirms, slightly annoyed. Her voice is deeper than Ray imagined (or extrapolated, from her breathy moans and _oh God,_ Gerard naked, ew.)

He distracts himself from the memories by snatching up the chair next to Mikey before Gerard inevitably gets it. Mikey nods in acknowledgement. They must have just gotten here, Ray realizes, because Mikey’s nose and cheeks are still red from the cold, his lips still pale. Ray shivers. He doesn’t know why.

“She’s on our side,” Gerard declares. He pulls out a seat and gestures for Frank to sit down. It’s kind of funny, how he obviously wants to be the only one standing, addressing the table, president of the ill-fated Save Gerard’s Ass committee. Bob takes the hint too, sitting next to Lindsey, who smiles and runs her hand through his peach-fuzz hair. They must be friends, Ray realizes. He once again wonders why he’s never noticed Lindsey before.

“Lindsey?” Gerard prompts.

“Okay,” she says, “so, as you all know, Chad is a total dickhead.” She pauses while the rest of the table nods in agreement. “I’m not saying he was a dickhead to _me_ , necessarily, but you know. He was an asshole to everyone else. So I’d been planning to break up with him for a couple of weeks, and then Gee got drunk and started hitting on me Friday, and I was like, hey, what better way to get the message across than by sleeping with a dork?” She turns to Gerard. “No offense, though. You were great.”

Gerard flaps his hand. “Of course.”

“I didn’t really consider what Chad would do to Gerard when he found out,” she continues. “So this is kind of my fault. And I’m sorry about all this, but I figured we could come up with a plan to keep him safe. And I’m gonna help.”

And finally, Ray can’t help but ask the question that’s been nagging him all morning. “Don’t you think you’re taking this a little far?”  
Lindsey’s laser sight is immediately on him. “A little far?”

Ray shrugs, embarrassed. She’s pretty intimidating. “He’s not gonna get worse than a black eye, right?”

She takes a breath, organizing her thoughts. “Two years ago,” she says, “Bennington slammed a kid’s head into a brick wall and snapped his neck like uncooked spaghetti.” A dramatic pause. “He’s paralyzed from the waist down. He’ll still be paralyzed when he’s forty, Toro.” She says his name like a curse. “We’re not letting that happen to Gerard.”

Frank elbows him in the side. “Carl Perry. Man, how did you not hear about that?”

“The family pressed charges,” Bob adds, “but Bennington’s dad is a lawyer, and a damn good one, so he got off.”

“It was just the two of them, Perry's word against Bennington,” says Gerard.

They all look at each other -- or, Gerard and Lindsey and Frank and Bob look at each other, and Ray looks at Mikey, and Mikey stares at the garish fake flower arrangement in the center of the table.

Sensing that they’re waiting on her, Lindsey claps her hands once. “I figure the best we can do is make sure he’s never defenseless. Who here thinks they could take Chad?”

“Bob,” Gerard says immediately.

“Yeah,” agrees Bob. “I’ll slam that motherfucker.”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Lindsey says, “but do you have any classes with him?”

“Nah,” says Bob, “but I can walk him home. And to school.”

“Ray can help,” Frank pipes up. Ray frowns and elbows him in the ribs, eliciting a squeak.

“What?” Frank asks, betrayed. “You could kill a horse with your bare hands.”

“Maybe,” Ray says. “But that doesn’t mean I wanna beat up Bennington.”

“You won’t have to beat him up, just keep him away,” says Lindsey.

Gerard looks at him. “Lunch and English?”

“Sure,” Ray sighs. “I’ll try, but don’t blame me if you get lynched.”

Gerard frowns, ignoring Ray. “That still leaves most of my classes,” he says.

“He’s probably not going to get you between classes,” says Lindsey. “As long as there are people with you. Do you have anything with him?”

“Science,” says Gerard.

Lindsey visibly winces.

“No, no, not Chem! It’s physics. No acid for him to throw in my face.”

“Just don’t be the last to leave,” she says.

“I won’t,” says Gerard.

Ray, who has been thinking it over, contributes. “Should we get you pepper spray or something?”

Gerard stops to ponder. “That’s technically a weapon,” he says.

“Yeah,” says Mikey, speaking for the first time in what feels like forever. Ray had forgotten he was there. “Technically, your lighter is a weapon, and your cigarettes are illegal. It’ll help.”

Gerard shrugs. “I'll buy some if I think about it.”

And so they make sure he has a way to and from school, and Bob promises to stick with him the whole weekend. Gerard protests that he can just stay in his house, but Bob glares at him and he agrees.

“I could come, maybe,” says Ray. He’s already skipping, no real problem lying to his parents some more come Friday night. Besides, Ray likes Gerard and he likes Gerard’s house, and more than that, it’ll give him time with Mikey.

“Okay,” Gerard says.

And it’s settled. They’re not going to let Gerard get his neck snapped or his head exploded or whatever. He’s still not convinced the situation is as dire as Lindsey is making it out to be, but then again, he was never Bennington’s girlfriend.

There’s no way they can show up at school now -- it’s around noon, and they’ve exhausted every strategy. Frank even showed Gerard how to do a round-house kick, but Gerard didn’t quite get the hang of it and it looked like Frank was doing it wrong in the first place. Anyway, they can’t go back, so they make sandwiches in an assembly line. Ray does cheese and peanut butter, but not together.

Most of them eventually wander into the den, which is different from the living room and the parlour in that it has a TV. Mikey stays in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and occasionally taking a bite of his peanut butter and honey sandwich or a handful of chips, so Ray stays too.

It’s not as awkward as it could be.

“You really think he’s gonna get hurt?” Ray asks after awhile.

Mikey doesn’t even look at him, taking another bite and chewing slowly before he answers. “Not with us around.”

It does very little to appease Ray’s nerves.

He slides closer to Mikey, until their hips are touching. Mikey doesn’t pull away, so Ray takes a risk and wraps an arm around his waist. Mikey laughs, then, small and soft in the back of his throat, and he pulls Ray into a surprisingly tight hug.

It doesn’t end, and Ray presses his face into Mikey’s bony chest. He smells kind of gross, like smoke and sweat. Ray’s pretty sure neither of the Ways wear deodorant, like, ever, but he guesses it’s not such a big deal. Mikey’s smell is comforting, in a way.

Neither of them say anything or pull away until they hear Gerard and Frank start shouting at the TV, and then they both jump apart.

Ray laughs at the startled expression on Mikey’s face. Mikey smiles back.

“You know,” he says, “You don’t have my number.”

“I guess I don’t,” says Ray. He doesn’t really call anyone but Frank -- he usually hates talking on the phone because he dreads that awkward moment when somebody’s mom picks up and he has to ask by name, and tell her why he’s calling, but Mikey is insistent. He grabs for the nearest scrap of paper -- a coffee filter from the cabinet above Ray’s head -- and produces a pen from the jar on the counter.

“Here,” he says, handing the filter to Ray. “Don’t be scared to call.”

Ray takes it without meeting Mikey’s eyes and shoves it in his back pocket. Warmth spreads through him from his fingertips inward. “Okay,” he says.

* * *

He starts to feel light-headed come two o’clock, like he’s trying to breathe underwater.

“Mikey,” he says, “my mom picks me up at school.” Mikey is resting his head in Gerard’s lap, face buried in Gerard’s tattered Misfits tee. He’s breathing evenly, but Ray can tell he’s not asleep because he’s seen Mikey sleep, and he’s a lot more restless at night. Gerard answers for him.

“I can’t drive you?” He asks.

Ray shakes his head. “She’ll get suspicious. I’ve, um. Never skipped.”

He’s worried that maybe Gerard will laugh at him, but he should know better by now. It’s not Ray’s fault his parents aren’t exactly permissive. Gerard just nods and twists a hand gently in Mikey’s hair, pulling him away. Mikey comes up warm and bleary-eyed. Ray takes a chance and wraps his arms around him, and Mikey smiles into his chest before Ray lets go.

“Can I at least drive you back to school?” Asks Gerard.

Ray shrugs. He can’t see anything wrong with that. “Yeah,” he says.

Gerard springs off the couch, always excited to show off his license. He snatches the keys off the side table and is halfway to the door before Lindsey stops him, arms crossed.

“And who is going to be with you on the ride home?”

Gerard rolls his eyes, but she is unrelenting.

“Today is the most dangerous, and it’ll happen if you’re alone. Knowing your luck.”

Mikey silently volunteers, stepping between Lindsey and Gerard. The three of them share a look.

“Okay,” says Gerard, “let’s go.”

Ray is a bit disappointed when he has to get out of the car. They’ve waited as long as is practical, Gerard parking in the empty pickup lane, and Mikey is in the back with him. He’s not the most comfortable person to cuddle with, not that Ray has much experience in the matter, but it’s not a big deal either because it’s _Mikey_. And it’s not fair that he has to leave.

“Don’t get caught,” Mikey advises as he opens Ray’s door. Kids are spilling out of the school in clumps and waves, talking, pausing, congesting the stairs like cholesterol.

“Don’t let them take you alive!” Yells Gerard.

Ray nods -- he know what Gerard’s trying to say. He’s not dumb enough to tell his parents about their top-secret mission, not even under threat or torture.

There’s no torture though, at least not immediately. His mom doesn’t even notice anything awry, as far as Ray can tell. She just smiles quickly and they crawl out of the parking lot.

“How was your day?” She asks.

“Fine,” says Ray. He doesn’t feel like talking.

When he gets home, he calls the attendance office from the privacy of his room -- thank god his parents have provided him with that small convenience.

“Yes, hello? This is Mr. Toro, Ray Toro’s father.”

He can hear the receptionist smacking gum on the other end of the line. He’s not sure which one it is -- the old lady with the platinum blonde hair or the disinterested younger one -- but they both chew gum, and it’s annoying no matter who it is.

“And what grade’s your son in?” She asks.

“Eleventh,” says Ray. He waits while she shuffles through some filing cabinet, and then continues. “I kept Ray home today because of a stomach bug.”

“Nasty,” she says unenthusiastically. “I’ll put it on his record. Have a nice day.”

Ray doesn’t wait for her to hang up, slamming the receiver down himself. His heart is racing, and he’s pretty sure it’s going to come in first at this rate. He’s struck by the overwhelming urge to call Frank, say _look what I did_ , but stops dialing the number half way through, finger hovering over the four. He remembers the crumpled coffee filter burning a hole through his back pocket.

“Hello, is Mikey home?”

“Ray?” Gerard asks.

“Gerard?”

Ray can almost hear him smiling through the phone. “He’s not,” Gerard says slowly. A pause. “What are you wearing?”

“Shut up,” Ray says. “Just tell him I called.”

“Sure,” Gerard agrees easily.

“Okay, bye,” says Ray, and then: “Wait. Are you going tomorrow?”

Gerard makes a noncommittal noise. “Probably,” he says. “Don’t worry. We’ll come sit with you and Frank. Not gonna make you stand in the cold with us.”

Ray doesn’t mention that he wasn’t planning on it, just says “okay,” and hangs up.

Frank is almost enthusiastic enough about Ray’s evil deeds to make him forget about Mikey. “You’re a total badass,” Frank says. “I’m not even kidding.”

Ray can’t be entirely sure he’s not kidding, but then again, Frank has known him basically his whole life. This is a pretty big step for Ray, though not necessarily a step in the right direction.

“I guess,” says Ray, because it’s a safe bet, and changes the subject. “Gerard’s gonna sit with us until this crap is over.”

“Cool,” says Frank. “I’ll keep him entertained while you and Mikey fuck in the janitor’s closet.”

Ray actually bares his teeth, even though he knows Frank can’t see. “We. Are not. Having sex.”

Frank laughs. “I can keep Gerard entertained anyway?”

And Ray’s not entirely sure what he’s getting at, or if he’s serious or not. It’s really hard to tell with Frank, even though he’s been dealing with Frank’s bullshit his entire life. He’s found the easiest tactic is to just ask. “Are you making fun of me?”

“I’m serious!” Frank insists. “I mean, yeah, I’m making fun of you, but you should also get some alone time with Mikey. He never talks in a group.”

Ray narrows his eyes. “I’m sensing an ulterior motive here.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. He hears some shuffling in the background, like maybe Frank’s moving or something.

“Frank?” He asks.

Frank’s voice is a low whisper. “I wanna know what Balleto’s like in bed,” he says.

Ray groans. “You are _disgusting,_ Christ.”

“But you’ll go hang out with Mikey, right?”

“Yes, I’ll hang out with Mikey,” he says, as if there was any question. “You’re still a pig.”

* * *

Gerard and Mikey are already there when he gets to school, both looking wet and sort of miserable. Mikey’s nose and cheeks are red from the cold. Gerard isn’t talking much.

“What’s wrong?” Ray asks, against his better judgment. He leans against the table next to Mikey, not bothering to sit.

Mikey shrugs.

“Morning,” says Gerard. “Cold. Can’t smoke.”

Frank rolls his eyes. “Don’t be such a fucking martyr. If you wanna smoke, I’ll come outside with you. No big deal.”

But Gerard groans and smacks his head dramatically on the table. “It’s better not to be alone,” he says. “There are... witnesses here.”

Ray knows he’s just torturing himself because he likes it, but sees a glint of opportunity. “Okay,” he says, “you can stay, but can Mikey come smoke with me?”

Gerard’s head snaps up, shrewd. “You don’t smoke,” he says.

“But your brother does. He’s not gonna get shived. C’mon.” He offers Mikey his hand.

After a moment of hesitation, Mikey bodily attacks Gerard, shoving hands in his coat pockets. Gerard squawks a bit, but settles down once Mikey emerges with his lighter.

Mikey grabs Ray’s arm and drags him away, leaving Gerard to bask in his own self-sacrifice.

Ray has to admit it; he’s a bit disappointed when Mikey actually leads him outside.

The snow is melting, making everything wet and filthy, but winter is nowhere near over. It’ll just solidify again soon, this time full of grime and cigarette butts preserved like mosquitos in amber. Maybe winter will never end, and scientists a hundred years from now will clone Mikey from his spit.

Ray huddles close once Mikey puts away the lighter and he’s no longer in danger of lighting Ray’s hair on fire. He buries his face in Mikey’s hoodie, nose red and dripping and gross. Mikey smells good in exactly the same way he smelled good yesterday, and Ray holds no illusions about cologne or anything. He just didn’t shower, again.

When he pulls away, Mikey is looking down at him through glasses perched almost at the tip of his nose. “Have you ever shotgunned before?” He asks.

Ray shakes his head. He has no idea what that even is, but assumes it’s something cool and grown-up and pretentious. He’s basically right.

“You usually do it with pot,” says Mikey, “but I wanna. C’mere.” He hunches down a bit until he’s at eye level with Ray, and then flips the cigarette around so the hot part is in his mouth. It’s kind of really impressive.

Since he can’t talk, Mikey grabs Ray by the chin and shoves a thumb in his mouth to get him to open up. He leans in and carefully blows smoke into Ray’s mouth. Their lips almost touch.

Ray pulls away coughing, of course, but Mikey looks pretty damn pleased with himself. He pats Ray ineffectively on the back.

“You’re so fucking cool,” Ray says sarcastically, once he gets his breath back.

Mikey smiles. Jesus, his smile is the most amazing thing Ray has ever seen. “I know,” he says.

For a moment, they’re content leaning against each other, Ray inhaling Mikey’s secondhand smoke and trying really hard not to choke -- his lungs just weren’t built for this, he thinks -- but the warmth of Mikey’s body makes Ray a bit anxious. He wants more.

“So, you didn’t really want to come watch me smoke,” Mikey says.

“Not really.”

“Okay,” says Mikey. He takes one last long drag and tosses the butt to the frozen earth, grinding it in with his toe. That’s all the warning Ray gets. Before he know’s what’s happening, Mikey wraps his arms around Ray’s waist and hoists him up onto the dumpster lid.

Mikey’s hand is freezing on Ray’s cheek, but his mouth is warm. The kiss is so violent their teeth click together, which, okay, that seriously hurts, but it’s worth it for the way Mikey shudders against him. When they pull back for air, Ray immediately wraps his legs around Mikey’s waist and pulls him closer.

“Fuck,” Mikey breathes.

Ray agrees. He shoves his tongue into Mikey’s mouth, and Mikey bites it, making Ray yelp. He kisses back in retaliation, and Mikey takes the opportunity to push him onto his back and scramble onto the dumpster, pinning Ray down.

Mikey breaks away and grabs a handful of Ray’s hair, wrenching his head back and biting at his neck. Ray groans. His feet scramble for purchase against the grimy dumpster lid, but find none. Mikey sucks an angry red mark above Ray’s clavicle. Ray grunts and grabs Mikey’s ass.

“We should fuck,” says Ray.

Mikey pulls back long enough to say, “Yeah. Not here. Come home with me.”

It takes a moment for Ray’s brain to register the offer. And Christ, does he consider it.

“Mikey,” he says, attempting to shove him away.

“Nng,” Mikey mumbles into his neck.

“ _Mikey_ ,” says Ray. He manages to pull Mikey -- who looks absolutely heartbroken -- away by the hair.

“What?” Mikey pouts.

“I can’t skip again,” says Ray. He knows he’s flushed all the way down to his chest, but without the warmth of Mikey’s body, he’s starting to feel the chill. “The bell is gonna ring soon.”

Mikey glares and pulls Ray off the dumpster with him, spinning them around and slamming Ray into the wall. They kiss. Ray bites as hard as he can, and Mikey bites back. He’s getting like, an adrenalin boner or something, so he pulls away again.

“Seriously,” says Ray. “We have to go.”

Mikey sighs. “I know.”

“I’m, uh, gonna be at your house this weekend anyway.”

“Yeah,” says Mikey. His hair is disheveled, his glasses askew.

* * *

It isn’t until he’s sitting in math that the seriousness of the situation hits him. He agreed to have sex with Mikey. Nay, he suggested it.

Ray doesn’t even know how gay sex _works_.

He is so completely fucked. It’s not that he doesn’t _want_ to -- he does want it, and he thinks that he even wants it from Mikey specifically -- it’s just, he’s scared shitless. Sex is something Ray rarely thinks about, so he’s not exactly an expert. What if he totally fucks it up? He’s not sure the trauma would be worth losing the virgin title. He doesn’t mind being a virgin. He doesn’t want to scare Mikey off. The worst part is, if everything goes wrong, it’s going to be _his_ fault.

He’s not even pretending to pay attention, so when he’s called on, he just bullshits some numbers and listens while the teacher explains why he’s wrong. He doesn’t know when he stopped caring about school -- except, that’s a lie. He does know. It hasn’t exactly been a gradual process.

* * *

_Might get laid this weekend_

He balls it up. The shot hits Frank before he’s even put his books down, and it bounces off his head and lands under some girl’s desk. She turns, gives Ray a nasty look, and passes the paper back to him.

Frank snickers as Ray is forced to hand it to him instead.

He wasn’t sure if he was even going to tell Frank -- that is, until he actually saw Frank and realized how dumb it was to think he could keep anything secret from him.

_yeah, and I might grow another dick_

Ray glares, but Frank just cocks his head and shrugs.

_We made out by the dumpster_

Frank takes an unusually long time to answer that one: he bites his pen and stares thoughtfully at the unfurled paper for a minute, and then, Ray assumes, writes _Pride and Prejudice_.

So Ray stares at the girl in front of him, or, more specifically, at the back of her head. He wonders how girls keep their hair so shiny. Probably not the same way Mikey keeps his hair shiny (pure grease.) He thinks about Mikey’s hair. He wonders if the carpet matches the drapes.

The paper bounces off his head and lands in his lap. Frank’s response is a very detailed self-portrait, accurate except for the limp penis growing out of his left cheek.

The conversation quickly devolves into a contest over who can draw a dick on the weirdest body part.

* * *

He doesn’t tell Gerard, but thinks Gerard knows. They eat together, and although Gerard is busy talking about his most recent Lit essay, he keeps sneaking glances at Ray. It’s suspicious.

Mikey pokes at his soggy potato wedges and interrupts Gerard. “Do you want these?”

Gerard pauses mid-gesture. “Huh? Yeah, sure.” Without appearing to look at the food, he scrapes it onto his plate. “Anyway, I’m going to talk to her before class and see if she’ll accept any more revisions. Cause, it’s basically a hundred, you know? Just some grammar stuff. I can’t believe she makes us write it by hand and then gets mad that we don’t spellcheck.”

Ray considers pointing out that, like, Plato and everybody spellchecked by hand, but then he realizes that he doesn’t actually care.

“Has anybody bothered you today?” He asks, taking advantage of a lull in conversation.

Gerard stiffens, but then he relaxes and shoves a forkfull of potato in his mouth, holds up a finger, and finishes swallowing before he answers. “Um, not really,” he says. “But I sat right by the teacher in science and I could still feel Bennington skullfucking me the entire time.”

Ray snorts. “Skullfucking you?”

“With his eyes,” Gerard explains. “Anyway, everybody’s staring at me today, but I’ve still got my _wits_.”

“And your cranial cap,” Ray adds.

“I'll be fine,” Gerard says dismissively. “Let's not talk about it. Talk about you.”

Ray scowls. “I like good steak and long walks on the beach. What's got you so worried?”

“Nothing!” Gerard whines, throwing his hands up and, in the process, flinging potato into his hair. “Goddammit!” He wipes the potato away.

It's nowhere near enough, but Ray lets it slide. “You tell me if you're worried about anything,” he says.

Gerard doesn't answer.

* * *

He wants to make out with Mikey the next morning, but Frank is late so he has to babysit Gerard instead. Mikey keeps a hand on Ray's thigh the entire time.

Gerard seems more tired than anything. His eyes are red-rimmed and droopy; his skin is taut across his cheekbones. He refuses to converse except through grunts and sighs.

“He's always like this in the mornings,” says Mikey. Mikey's eyes are red too.

Ray just nods. Mikey's said that before, but it still bothers him. Ray doesn't _like_ getting up in the morning, but he's not a walking corpse either.

He sighs. “Do you want to go smoke?” He asks the both of them.

Gerard perks up, eying Ray. “Hnng?” He says.

“We can go outside,” says Ray.

Gerard nods slowly. He looks almost innocent, eyes wide at the promise of nicotine.

“Come on,” Ray says, grabbing his shoulder and helping him up. “This way. Outside.” It's like talking to a child. Mikey follows at a safe distance, wanting no part in bearing Gerard's weight.

Once Ray deposits him safely against the dumpster, Gerard hunches in on himself, away from the cold. Wordlessly, Mikey shoves a hand in Gerard's pocket and withdraws two cigarettes and a lighter. He presses one to Gerard's lips, which part obediently. Ray doesn't get to see the actual moment of contact because Mikey shields the flame with his hand. He only sees them move together, a practiced dance, and when they pull apart, both cigarettes are lit.

“I'm not going to offer,” says Mikey.

“Thanks,” says Ray.

The Ways smoke in silence and almost in unison, which is sort of funny but also defeats the purpose of coming out here. He wanted Gerard to perk up; now he's only dragging Mikey down with him.

Ray kicks the dumpster to get their attention. “Man, what's up with you today?”

Gerard looks up at the sound. “Nothing,” he snaps.

Mikey and Ray both eye him but say nothing.

Gerard's face softens. “I'm fine, seriously. Sorry.”

* * *

“It wasn't me,” Lindsey says.

“I just though maybe you--”

She smiles, exposing bright white teeth. “Broke up with him?”

That makes Ray pause halfway through shoving books in his bag. He had been under the impression that she was protecting Gerard, but never that they were _dating_. He resolves not to let on that he didn't know.

“No,” he says, “I just thought you might know something.”

“Sorry.” She shrugs. “I have to get to class, though.”

“Oh, yeah, of course, sorry--” Ray stutters. He doesn't exactly have much experience talking to girls, even if the girl in question is way out of his league and Gerard's girlfriend and he's not even single anyway – _Ray isn't single_. Fuck.

But anyway, he next sees Gerard in Lit, reading ahead in their book of essays and ignoring the lecture. Ray really wishes he could pass notes in this class, but it's nothing like study hall. He'd get caught. All he can do is watch Gerard scowl at the text and worry.

He latches onto Gerard's shoulder as soon as the bell rings.

“Want me to carry your bag?”

Gerard looks at him skeptically. “What? No. Don't be dumb.”

Ray shrugs. “Whatever.”

“Hey,” Gerard says on the way out the door. “I've gotta piss. I'll meet you at the table.”

Ray nods. It isn't until Gerard is halfway down the hall that he realizes he's being a massively awful bodyguard.

“Wait, dude,” Ray calls, jogging after him. Gerard doesn't seem to hear him, slouching toward the bathroom like it's death row.

“Dude,” he says again, grabbing Gerard's arm. Gerard shrugs him off. “We've gotta stick together.”

But Gerard won't even look at him, staring at his battered Vans like they hold the secrets of the universe. He gets all the way to the damn urinal before he's forced to look up, and even then he doesn't say anything, just stares at Ray, who is standing in the corner by the sink.

Gerard clears his throat, staring Ray down with those creepy bloodshot eyes of his.

“What?” Ray asks.

Gerard huffs and tosses his hair like a slightly chubby runway model. “I can't pee with you watching.”

“I'm not _watching_ ,” Ray says. “I can't even see your junk from here.”

“I have stage fright,” Gerard pouts.

“I can't--”

“Could you just--?” Gerard motions to the door.

“Fuck,” Ray mumbles, flustered. “Fine.” He steps out of the bathroom.

Ray stares at the walls, trying to calm down. He doesn't know why, but Gerard is seriously pissing him off today – nothing specific, just the way he _obviously doesn't want Ray around_. After a second, he can actually hear Gerard peeing – ew – so stepping out was pointless in the first place.

After the stream stops, Ray gives him a minute to shake it out and zip up, and then heads right back in.

Gerard is opening the window. He spins around when the door opens.

Ray stops. “What the hell are you doing?” He asks.

Gerard shrugs and leans against the windowsill, hair in his face, the very image of youthful defiance. “Was gonna smoke,” he says.

Ray hesitates for a second. “Well, I'm hungry. You can wait until you get home.”

Another shrug. It's i _nfuriating_.

Ray curses under his breath and grabs Gerard forcefully by the back of the neck, steering him out of the bathroom before Gerard pulls his hand away. He doesn't seem mad, though. He's chewing on his lip and staring at the ceiling. He's going to run into something at this rate.

He can't get Gerard to say much during lunch, but that might be because Gerard's mouth is constantly full of limp fries. Bob passes their table on the way to class and fist-bumps Ray, and that's the most interesting thing that happens.

* * *

“Okay, here's what you have to do,” says Frank. “Hang up, get some Midol, and call me back.”

Ray scoffs. “I'm serious,” he says. “I'm worried about Gerard.”

“He's a big boy, Ray.”

“He won't let me follow him into the bathroom, so I don't know that for sure,” Ray says.

Frank snorts.

Ray paces as far as the cord will allow him. He glances at his guitar in the corner, sad and abandoned. Lately, he's been running home from school – figuratively running, since his stupid parents insist on driving him – and immediately calling Frank, and, after that, Mikey. His practice time has suffered for it.

Suddenly, Frank's maniacal laughter bubbles through the receiver.

“What?” Ray asks.

“Dude,” Frank wheezes, “check your email!”

Ray sighs. “I am _not_ disconnecting the goddamn phone just to see zoo animals jerk off.”

“It wasn't jerking off,” Frank pouts. “It's nose was just shaped like a--”

“ I don't _care_ ,” Ray says, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice. “Just tell me what it is. I'll look at it if it isn't stupid.”

“It's not stupid,” Frank assures him. “It's your boyfriend.”

“It's – huh?”

“Jesus, just check your fucking email,” Frank says. “I'm hanging up.”

“Not if I hang up first,” Ray says. Then Frank hangs up.

“ _Dammit_ ,” Ray mutters. He turns on his computer tower.

He is immediately informed that he does, in fact, have mail. As promised, it's from Mikey.

 _From: hanshot1st@hotmail.com,_  
 _To: rtoro@aol.com,_  
Subject: Heyyy

There's no text in the body, but attached is a photo named gjasldkj.jpg, so Ray double-clicks that too.

It's... not what he was expecting. Ray stares for a few seconds, unable to form complete thoughts. He can feel his face heating up, feel his mouth going dry.

It's a picture of Mikey, taken from a low angle so only the bottom half of his face is visible. He's wearing nothing but a pair of briefs. Mikey's hunched over slightly, making folds in his not-exactly-rock-solid stomach. His body hair is _blonde_ , which is something Ray's never encountered before, and it's super weird. He's holding his glasses in the hand not taking the picture. He has an angry red scratch on his shoulder.

Okay, so Ray is sort of freaking out. He's made out with Mikey before, and he technically sort of agreed to have sex with Mikey this weekend, but this is the first time he's been totally, one hundred percent sure he _wants_ Mikey. And he really, really fucking does want Mikey, because Mikey is just fucking beautiful and perfect and he took this picture with _Ray_ in mind. He wasn't just casually looking hot, smoking or talking or whatever. He _tried_ to look hot _._ For _Ray_.

And it _worked_.

He's trying to figure out how to respond to this – a message? A picture in return? He's not entirely convinced Mikey wants to see him naked...ish. Ray's not nearly as attractive as Mikey seems to think he is. While he's considering all this, the thought hits him.

How the hell did Frank know about this?

Ray wishes he had an office chair so he could roll away from his desk and over to the phone, but he doesn't, so he has to get up like a total asshole. He disconnects the internet, but the picture stays up because it's already loaded. It lends him strength -- Ray chuckles to himself.

Frank picks up on the first ring.

“So?”

“Dude,” Ray says, exasperated, “How the hell did you know that would be there?”

“Mikey left his email logged in,” says Frank. “So Gee forwarded it to me.”

All Ray can think to say is, “Oh,” and then, “That's sort of a dick move.”

Frank laughs. “Gerard is sort of a dick.”

“Okay,” Ray agrees easily. “So, what am I supposed to send back?”

“Nudes!” Frank cackles.

“No,” Ray says flatly. He's going to say more, but he hears footsteps coming up the stairs. “Shit, gotta go,” he says, and runs over to the computer to close the window. His mother bursts in a second later.

“Dinner,” she says.

“Okay,” says Ray, trying not to sound suspicious. “Thanks.”

Dinner is meatloaf and potatoes, which is pretty okay. What's not pretty okay is his dad questioning him about his weekend.

“I'm probably going to hang out with Frank and the Way brothers,” he says truthfully.

“You're spending a lot of time with them,” his dad says. It's a loaded statement.

Ray pushes his potatoes around his plate and tries to keep his voice nonchalant. “Just two weekends,” he says. “They're my friends.”

“Your father and I are just worried,” his mom chimes in. “We haven't met them.”

He bites his tongue and tries to keep his cool. “You can,” he grits out. “Maybe this weekend.”

He knows damn well that's not going to happen.

* * *

“Holy shit.”

That's the first thing Ray says when he walks into the lunch room. It's also the second thing he says, because the first time, he's too far away from the table for anyone to hear him.

“Holy shit, Gee.”

Gerard grunts and puts his head in his hands.

“What the hell happened?” He directs the question to Mikey, who is sitting closer to his brother than usual (which is really saying something) with his arms folded across his chest. His eyes seem sunken in. He's in even worse shape than he was yesterday.

“We took a shortcut home,” says Mikey.

Ray curses under his breath. “And they ambushed you?”

Mikey's expression remains neutral. “No,” he says.

Ray finds that a little hard to believe.

Gerard is has gauze wrapped around his head at an angle, covering just above his left eye. His face and hands are all scratched to shit, and there's a massive bruise peeking out from his shirt collar.

“It wasn't Bennington,” Mikey elaborates. “He hurt himself.”

“He hurt himself,” Ray repeats, dumbfounded. “I'm gonna need more than that.”

Mikey sighs and leans forward onto the table, and Ray takes his cue to sit down next to him. It's only then that Frank gets back from his locker, sitting down across from them, slightly less chipper than usual. He doesn't look shocked, so he must have already heard this story.

“Hey,” Frank says, as solemn as he can manage. Ray nods in acknowledgement.

“We took a shortcut home,” Mikey continues, “through the woods behind our house. It was cold, and we were tired. Gee suggested it.”

Gerard doesn't even look up, just resting on the table like a hunk of tenderized meat. It makes Ray feel pretty damn sorry for him, which he's pretty sure is Gerard's intention.

“So, he went off the path and sort of ran ahead of me. We were separated for a good ten minutes while I looked for him.” Mikey glances sharply at his brother, accusing. “If I didn't know better, I'd think he was _trying_ to lose me.”

That finally makes Gerard sit up. “Christ, Mikey. I fucking told you, I thought you were behind me.”

“I know,” Mikey says simply, not even sparing Gerard a glance. Ray can taste the tension. “It doesn't matter. Either way, we got separated. Now, I don't know if you've been there, but there's this big-ass rock face back there. It goes all the way down to the edge of the neighborhood. There's steps off the trail, but, like I said, he left the fucking trail.”

Gerard doesn't defend himself.

“When I found him,” Mikey says, expressionless, “he was at the bottom of it. Cut the shit out of my shoulder trying to get to him.” He crosses his arms again and leans back in his chair, not making eye contact.

Ray manages a strangled “ _fuck_ ,” and that's it. He glances at Frank, who nods his sympathy. After a moment, he turns to Gerard. “You fell off a fucking _cliff_?”

Gerard shrugs from his place on the table. “It wasn't a cliff,” he says quietly. “More of an outcropping.”

They sit in silence almost until the first bell, except for the part where Gerard lets Frank peek under his bandage.

“Sick,” says Frank. “I mean – 'sick' as in gross, not 'sick' as in gnarly.”

“I know what you mean,” says Gerard.

Ray doesn't get a chance to see the wound, but he's probably better off for it.

* * *

Gerard doesn't say much during Lit or lunch, just mopes around and makes everyone sorry for him. Maybe it's a good thing. Maybe Bennington will see and figure it's enough. At lunch, Ray offers to take Gerard out to smoke, to which Gerard easily agrees.

It's cold again, the slush having solidified. Once again, Ray forgets his coat.

On his second cigarette, Gerard turns to him and silently opens his coat, gesturing for Ray to get close. It's sort of weird, basically cuddling with Gerard, but it also probably saves Ray from frostbite. Even then, Gerard doesn't talk.

Ray nuzzles into the crook of his neck, trying not to be super awkward about it. From the smell of it, Gerard hasn't washed his hair in awhile.

Eventually, Gerard stubs out his cigarette on the wall and pushes Ray away.

“I need to go to my locker,” he says. “I'll meet you at the table.”

Ray frowns and grabs Gerard by the sleeve. “Don't be stupid,” he says. “Come on.”

Gerard only ends up putting his coat away, looking gloomy about it the entire time.

* * *

_I'm worried._

For once, Frank doesn't have a witty response to Ray's note, which is in itself kind of terrifying. Frank could find humor in a funeral.

He simply writes back: _me too_.

Ray's mind is racing with the possibilities – something seems fundamentally _wrong_ with Gerard. He hasn't known the guy forever, admittedly, but it's obvious. Something weird is going on. And Mikey's story – what if he's lying? Ray hates to imagine Mikey lying about anything, but Gerard had no good reason to wander away like that. What if Bennington really did get him, and they're not telling him for some reason?

He doesn't get the chance to talk about it until he sees Mikey after school, sitting on the front steps waiting while the horde cuts a careful path around him. He fully intends to question him; that is, until he sees him. Ray is immediately reminded of the picture from last night, and then – he just can't.

“About this weekend,” he says instead.

“Yeah,” Mikey says, “I was actually going to ask if you wanted to come home with me tomorrow.”

“Oh,” says Ray. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” says Ray. “Yeah. Shit. I'll ask my parents.”

“Okay,” says Mikey.

They stare at each other, and then Ray tries to stoop down at the same time Mikey tries to stand up, and they accidentally headbutt.

“Fuck,” says Mikey, smiling for the first time all day.

“Yeah,” Ray agrees, rubbing his head, and he just can't ask. He can't.

* * *

He starts thinking about the picture again as soon as he gets home, or, more specifically, he thinks about how he can reply. Nobody even mentioned it at school today, he realizes. Everyone was caught up in Gerard's fall. He never got the chance to say anything about it to Mikey, which means he's sort of obligated to reply. But how?

He should take a picture. He should. The problem is, unlike Mikey, he doesn't have a digital camera. So – what? What's he supposed to say to that? 'Hey, I like your body; the lovemaking is still on for this weekend.' No. In the end, Ray does the only logical thing:

He calls Frank.

“Stop being such a pussy.” Apparently, Frank is eating pretzels or something, because Ray can hear him crunching through the phone, making him a bit hard to understand. “I've gotta camera. Want me to come over and take dick pics?”

“ _No_ ,” says Ray.

“Your loss.”

Ray sighs. “I'll just open it up. Something will come to me.”

“You could call him,” Frank suggests reasonably.

Ray considers it. It might be sort of really awkward, he thinks, _talking_ to Mikey about it. “We'll see,” he says.

When he hangs up and connects to the internet, his computer once again informs him that he has mail. It's probably from Frank – another monkey, knowing him. Ray opens it without even thinking, and – okay, it's not from Frank.

 _From: hanshot1st@hotmail.com,_  
 _To: rtoro@aol.com,_  
Subject: lkjhgfasfd

sorry about yesterday. wanted to hang out with you more. dont let gerard get you down

And another photo with another keyboard smash title. Ray's almost afraid to open it. He hovers for a good thirty seconds. When he does click it, it's sort of anticlimactic, because it takes another thirty seconds to load. First Mikey's head, then his torso...

It's a lot like the first one, except this time Mikey is kneeling. His knees are spread, revealing the white insides of his thighs, smooth and inviting. The briefs are gone, and in their place – Ray's breath hitches – is a pair of plain, baby blue panties. They're stretched tight across his bony hips, showing off the little indents on the insides of his hipbones. His face isn't visible in this one, but he's not holding his glasses, so he must be wearing them. The outline of his cock is clearly visible through the thin fabric, and there's a dark spot near the head where precome has soaked through.

Ray just stares. It takes him a moment to realize his hand is down his pants, but when he does, he can't exactly remove it. Mikey is just – _fuck_. He rubs himself through his boxers and imagines Mikey doing the same through that thin cotton. He must have touched himself to get hard enough for this picture – or, even better, maybe he didn't. Maybe the thought of Ray seeing him like this was enough.

He bites his lip to keep quiet and shoves his pants down around his thighs, stroking in earnest. He imagines Mikey's hands on him, Mikey's hot breath on his neck. He imagines them rubbing together through the fabric, Mikey nuzzling into his hair, flushed from exertion and embarrassment.

With a low grunt, Ray spills over his hand. Oops.

He can't fault himself too much for – what was that, like two minutes? Because it's been awhile, and fucking _Mikey_. Quickly, he pulls his pants up and types a quick reply.

_Wear those tomorrow._

He hits send before he can talk himself out of it.

* * *

“Good news,” Ray says, sitting down between Frank and Mikey, “I can come home with you guys today, as long as we're not walking.”

“We're walking,” Gerard interjects, lifting his head from the table. The bandage is gone, a pretty gross scab in its place. “Just a bit. My car's parked down the street.”

Ray purses his lips. “Oh,” he says. “Well, my parents don't have to know that.” And Mikey shoots him this tiny little smile, and Ray feels all warm inside.

“You coming?” He asks, turning to Frank.

Frank nods. “Fuck yeah.”

“I've got everyone's rulebooks at my house,” says Gerard. “We are playing at my house, right?”

Ray hesitates. “Yeah,” he says. He never actually specified to his parents that he'd be at Frank's place.

Gerard nods. “Cool.” He puts his head back on the table.

Ray considers asking them to go smoke – an activity he enjoys more than he probably should, mostly because he gets to be alone with the Ways and gets to watch Mikey put things in his mouth – but it's already getting pretty late, and by the time they got out there, they'd have to turn back around. He settles for scooting his chair away from the table and lodging himself firmly between Mikey and Gerard.

Gerard looks up briefly, squints at him, and rests his head on Ray's shoulder. Mikey kisses the top of Ray's head and quickly turns away, smiling.

* * *

Gerard's mood sours throughout the day. By the time lunch rolls around, he's bitten the skin off his bottom lip and is sucking the blood out of it.

“That's nasty,” Ray comments. Gerard doesn't look at him.

Gerard doesn't eat either.

“Go get in line,” he says. “I'll wait at the table.”

Ray almost falls for it – in fact, he's halfway to the tray cart before he sees Gerard get up out of the corner of his eye, and then he has to drop his tray and hurry to his side. Ray grabs his arm. “Come with me,” he says. Gerard grunts and twists away.

And Ray has had it with this bullshit.

“What's your fucking problem?” He asks, squeezing his arm tight enough that he can't slip away. “You keep trying to get away from me.”

Gerard looks at him with those big, doleful eyes, partially obscured by his hair. “I'm not,” he says, voice devoid of intonation.

“You are,” Ray counter. When Gerard doesn't respond, he settles with dragging him into line.

Fridays are pizza days, which is seriously worrying. Ray knows for a fact that Gerard loves pizza, even more than he loves food in general. He tries to feed Gerard his piece, but it doesn't happen. Gerard just sulks.

“Smoke break,” Ray says tersely, dumping his plate in the trash. Gerard doesn't object.

* * *

“I'm going to fuck your brother tonight,” Ray says nonchalantly.

Gerard drops his lighter. The wind blows out his cigarette.

“Jesus,” he says, crouching down to fumble around in the snow. “What the fuck, Toro?”

Ray smiles, proud to have finally gotten a reaction out of him. “Stop being so weird,” he says. “And I won't tell you about it tomorrow.”

Gerard snorts. “Like I don't already know the details of his sex life.” He finally manages to light up, and on the first drag the tension melts from his shoulders. He coughs. “Mikey overshares.”

“Oh,” Ray says, trying not to smile at the thought. Mikey's just so quiet, it's hard to imagine, but then again, he and Gerard are weirdly close. And Ray maybe doesn't mind Gerard knowing what he and Mikey do in bed. Gerard can keep a secret.

“You guys are both weird,” he says.

Gerard shrugs and doesn't deny it. “I found the dirty pictures he sent you,” he says.

“They weren't for you.”

And Gerard laughs, sharp and loud. “I hope not,” he says.

They split up after that. There are only about twenty minutes left of lunch.

“I have next period with Bob,” Gerard says. “We’re doing a group project, but we’re sort of not finished.”

Ray thinks it over, and then nods. “Let me walk you to class?”

“Sure,” says Gerard.

There are a few kids in the classroom when Gerard shows up. He and Ray part ways.

* * *

Ray works on his art project for the rest of lunch. He can't wait to finish it, because it's going to be super badass. He's going to give it to Mikey, since Mikey said he liked Hamill. The watercolors are messy and hard to work with in the cafeteria, but the cover is coming out really well.

He gets to work on it more in Art last period, because he's already done with his 'official' project, which is a stupid self-portrait. Ray thinks he came out looking like a black dude.

Mikey is waiting for him when class lets out.

A grin spreads across Ray's face. “What're you doing here?” He asks.

Mikey shrugs. “I told her I had to go to the bathroom.” He throws an arm across Ray's shoulders and pulls him in for a quick hug. Ray nuzzles into his neck, but like, subtly. He smells the same as his brother. It's oddly comforting.

They break apart. “We're meeting outside,” says Mikey.

* * *

Frank is already outside, trying to stand on top of the stairs' handrail. He waves when he spots them and almost falls in the process, catching himself against the wall at the last second.

“Hey,” he says, dismounting the rail like nothing happened.

Mikey raises an eyebrow and doens't answer, a reaction that doesn't seem to faze Frank.

Just then, Gerard shows up, flanked by an escort of Bob and Lindsey. He smiles weakly when he spots them. His eyes are red and puffy. “Hey guys.”

Frank affectionately headbutts him in the stomach, and, predictably, Ray cracks up. “You're such a freak,” he says, tousling Frank's hair.

He glances to Mikey. Except, Mikey isn't smiling, just grimacing at his brother. Ray doesn't ask what's wrong, because Lindsey starts dragging Gerard forward just then.

“Let's get you home,” she says.

Gerard nods halfheartedly but doesn't really assist her with the whole dragging thing.

So, Gerard is being sort of weird, but he mellows out as they start walking. He stops discussing his plans for the D&D campaign to say, “My car's parked at the end of that block.”

And – Ray actually has no reason to believe anything's awry, because he can see Gerard's car just down the street, but something feels off. There's a lull in the conversation. Ray notices that the corners of Gerard's mouth are split. His lips look swollen. He must have been biting them again.

Gerard takes a deep breath as they approach the car. “Guys,” he says, “I need to tell you something.”

And then Mikey screams.

Before he understands what's happening, Ray's arms are pinned behind him and Mikey's head makes contact with the hood.

It all happens so fast – he has no idea where these fuckers came from, but there's at least seven guys, each holding one of them back. To his left, two of them have Bob restrained, and Bob is kicking for all he's worth. Frank is biting the shit out of his attacker's arm, but the guy's holding strong.

In the middle of the rough circle, a scrawny bald guy pins Mikey to the hood of the car, arm across his shoulders and a hand in his hair, wrenching his head back at a painful angle. His nose is bleeding already. His eyes move frantically, trying find an escape route.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Gerard screams, bending forward and trying to throw his guy off with no success. They're all huge except for the middle one – he must be Bennington.

And then somebody’s holding Ray's mouth shut, and he realizes that he was screaming too, his throat already raw.

“You motherfucker, you said you _wouldn't_ ,” Gerard bellows. “I'll fucking kill you!”

Bennington scoffs. “Shut up, cocksucker.” He lifts Mikey's head and slams him back into the hood. Mikey renews his struggle, kicking and yelling incoherently, trying to wriggle away. Bennington ignores him. “You really thought you could get away with a blowjob?” He looks around at the circle, and then widens his eyes in mock-surprise. “I'm sorry, did your friends not know, faggot?'

“You said you wouln't hurt him,” Gerard repeats, voice cracking.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Lindsey.

They ignore her.

Bennington rolls Mikey over and knees him hard in the gut. Mikey immediately crumples to the ground, clutching his stomach. For a second, Ray's sure he's going to throw up, but then he just folds, hands scrambling at his head, trying to protect himself. Bennington grabs him by the collar and easily pulls him back to his feet.

“You believed me,” he says, shoving Mikey back against the car. His hips slam against the bumper. “Easy, too. Almost makes me think you wanted to do it.”

Ray spots the gleam of the knife tucked into Bennington shoe. It's then that he realizes Lindsey was right about this guy, about how dangerous he was. He realizes that Bennington could very well kill Mikey.

Ray can only watch in horror as he pushes Mikey to the ground and kicks him while he's down. Mikey just takes it, sprawling backwards like a ragdoll, and Bennington gets in one more good blow to the hip before sauntering over to Lindsey. She has both arms pinned behind her back, dark hair hanging in her face. She's full of restrained power, teetering on the edge.

He twists a lock of her hair around his finger. “Hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but your new boyfriend's a fag.”

She won't meet his eyes, gaze shifting from Mikey to Gerard and back.

He grabs her roughly by the jaw and forces her to look at him. “Listen to me, cunt,” he spits. Gerard visibly flinches. “I know about your little plan to keep him away from me, and look how well that's worked. We could've fucked him up any time we wanted, y'know, but we didn't. He came crawling to me all by himself. Didn't care when I promised to hurt _him_ , but when I threatened this kid--” he gestures over his shoulder to Mikey, who is a crumpled heap on the ground.

“I told him to sneak away from you,” he says. “Really, I was just going to smash his face in, but your _boyfriend_ had a different idea.”

Ray is seething. He's next to Lindsey, close enough that he can see Bennington's breath in the cold winter air.

“He begged for it,” Bennington says causally. “ _Anything, don't hurt him_.” He shakes his head and turns to Gerard, who is just behind Ray. “I hope your kidneys are compatible, 'cause he's going to need a new one pretty soon,” he says.

Gerard sobs brokenly, almost doubled over, and – rage boils up in Ray's gut. How _dare_ this motherfucker hurt Mikey; how _dare_ he make Gerard cry.

Ray spits in his face.

Bennington just stares at him for a second, mouth gaping like a dying fish. It's enough of a distraction. Out of nowhere, Lindsey kicks him in the nuts and he goes down in one smooth motion.

His cronies leap into action, all eyes on Lindsey. In the scuffle that ensues, Ray gets his arms free and searches desperately for Mikey. If he can just find Mikey, get him to safety – Gerard will have to forgive him.

He finally does spot him, and the moment seems to last forever: Mikey, on his hands and knees, reaching for Bennington's right foot. He's bleeding from his head, his mouth, fucking everywhere. They lock eyes. Mikey's are dull with pain.

And then he's up, and Ray is screaming because Mikey can't. “Back the fuck up,” he yells, throwing himself in front of Mikey, arms outstretched. Mikey brandishes the knife high, triumphant, terrified.

“Back up!” He yells again, and the guys surrounding Mikey actually do take a step back. Bennington is up, looking around wild-eyed. The fighting quickly dies down – Ray knows these guys can still take them, but they seem to be doubting themselves now that their leader has fallen.

Ray gestures to Gerard. “Car,” he says.

After another second of shock, Gerard lunges for the car door, key still in the lock, and he manages to slam it open right into a goon's face, knocking him flat. Ray shoves Mikey backward into Gerard's waiting arms, but not before Mikey gets a good shot at Bennington, slicing his face. Once he's safely inside, Ray snatches the knife and gestures wildly at his attackers, keeping them back.

“Get in,” he says.

Lindsey runs for the car, but a guy jumps in her path. Before he can grab her, Bob punches him square in jaw. Three of the guys are down, another two staying out of the fray, which just leaves Bennington and two cronies.

Ray catches a motion out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly Frank slams headfirst into a guy's stomach. Before he's regained his balance, Frank is in the car, yelling for Ray.

For a split second, Ray considers sticking Bennington. He has the knife – he could _do_ it; he could fucking kill that son of a bitch – but then he remembers Mikey, and jumps into the car.

Before he even shuts the door, Gerard hits the gas and his poor car peels out of there, into the street. Ray looks around, disoriented. He's half on top of Frank; the car is swerving; everybody’s screaming and he can't hear anything.

“Hospital!” He yells. He says it over and over until his voice gives out.

Mikey's head lulls off the passenger seat, and Ray shifts forward to keep him upright, sitting on Bob in the process, but Bob doesn't seem to mind one bit.

“Mikey,” he chokes. Mikey's eyes are caked shut.

* * *

The next fifteen minutes are a blur of passing scenery, white walls and friendly blue lettering, and then Ray is cradling Mikey in his arms and sprinting through the waiting room. Frank breaks away from the group to yell at the receptionist and then to yell into a payphone, and then Ray's surrounded by people who are trying to take Mikey away from him. He clutches Mikey's frail body close to his and tries to keep them off, but they take him anyway, and someone is holding Ray back, strong hands on his shoulders, and he tries to run after the stretcher but he can't, and Bob wrenches Ray's head away and presses it into his chest, muttering something Ray can't understand and doesn't want to hear.

* * *

The next thing Ray's brain really registers is a warm hand stroking his hair. He's horizontal, his head in Frank's lap. Everything is fuzzy and quiet.

“Frank?” He croaks.

“Hey,” Frank says quietly, removing his hand.

Ray rolls over so he can see his face, but Frank's face is wobbly and swimming like a goldfish in jello. Ray sits up anyway and braces himself against the inevitable vertigo. Frank doesn't try to keep him down, but keeps a hand on his shoulder for support.

“They thought you hit your head,” says Frank. “They kept making you count backwards and shit.”

Ray frowns. “Did I do it?” He doesn't remember a thing.

Frank nods. “It was pretty funny,” he says, no trace of humor in his tone.

“But I didn't get hurt,” Ray says.

“It's okay if you did,” Frank says.

“I didn't,” he insists. “Where's Mikey?”

Frank hesitates. Ray's mind begins racing with the possibilities, but before he can freak out, Frank says, “He's back there somewhere. Um, we tried to get you back with him, but they would only let Gerard in since he's family.”

Ray makes a tiny noise of distress. “ _Mikey_ ,” is all he can think to say.

Frank pats him on the shoulder. “Yeah,” he says, “I know.”

When his eyes focus, Ray spots Lindsey and Bob in the chairs across from them. He jumps – how did he not notice them? They're looking at him. Ray glances back to Frank for reassurance. He's never seen Frank so solemn, and it's not helping quell his fears.

“Gerard didn't want to tell them about, y'know,” says Linsey, “so I did. They're getting him tested.”

“They made a really big deal about it,” Frank adds.

Ray is confused. “About what?”

Frank shifts uncomfortably. “Well, we haven't talked to the cops about it, but the doctors think we can press rape charges.”

“Oh,” Ray says dumbly. “Wow.”

“We're waiting until we know what – what happened to Mikey. Then the police are gonna want to interview us,” says Frank.

Ray scowls. “I don't want to talk to them.”

“Oh,” says Frank.

“We'll see,” says Lindsey.

And – Ray doesn't know what does it; maybe it's the adrenalin crash, or maybe it's Frank's hand rubbing circles on the back of his neck – he feels tears start to well up. He's amazed he's hydrated enough to cry right now.

Lindsey shifts to his side, cradling his head between her shoulder and Frank's chest. Bob averts his gaze while Ray cries silently. Tears roll down his cheeks and soak into Lindsey's sweater.

* * *

It seems like hours before Gerard comes out. In the mean time, Ray numbly flips through a few Martha Steward catalogues and an inexplicably placed Sky Mall. He and Frank smile over the stupid products, like that chair that wiggles so you can exercise your ass muscles, but nothing is very funny without Mikey and Gerard.

Ray doesn't even notice him at first because he doesn't come over right away; instead he stops at the front desk to whisper about something. This place is too quiet for Ray's taste.

“I don't have syphilis,” Gerard announces, sitting down next to Lindsey. He glares at her. “Thanks.”

She shrugs, subconsciously pressing closer to him. “We had to do it.”

And, it's not that Ray doesn't _care_ that Gerard sort of got raped; he just can't wait another second. “How is he?”

Gerard looks up, as if surprised by his presence. “Alive,” he says slowly. His skin is almost translucent in the hospital lighting. “Um, he lost a lot of blood, but not enough for a transfusion. His nose is broken, and – he has a concussion.”

He feels Frank perk up next to him. “Isn't that pretty serious?”

“It can be. They did an MRI, though, and his isn't very bad at all. He might be able to go home today if we're lucky; we just have to keep an eye on him, and he needs a lot of rest. He'll have to come back in a week or so for a check up.”

Lindsey smiles as best she can. “That's good news,” she says.

Gerard doesn't look at her. “It's my fault he's like this.”

Somehow, the resounding chorus of ' _no,_ ' doesn't seem to help.

* * *

Gerard's and Frank's parents show up, and Ray hasn't met all of the Ways yet, but now doesn't seem like the best time for introductions, and luckily, Gerard doesn't try. When Mikey wakes up, some cops show up to talk to him, but they won't let Ray see him until they're done. There's a lot of fuss about legal things that Ray tries to tune out. Frank's parents want the Ways to press charges, but the Ways seem a little more reluctant. Gerard begs the cops not to tell them what happened to him.

All Ray wants to do is see Mikey, but they won't let him for another few hours, and then, when he finally gets the okay, the worst imaginable thing happens: Ray's parents show up.

“I'm okay,” he says, trying to escape his mom's insistent pat-down while Frank's parents explain what happened. “Seriously, guys, I'm fine. Don't worry about me.”

He's sure they'll be pissed about Gerard driving them home, but when they finally find out, it gets swept up in the rest of the drama. He finally manages to slip away while they're busy whispering furiously with the Ways.

A nurse leads him through a series of twisting white hallways, and all he can think about is what Mikey will say when he sees him.

The room is less terrifying than he was expecting, in that the walls are pink, not white, and Mikey's bed has a real blanket and not those paper-thin hospital sheets. He's hooked up to an IV, but the beeping heart monitor that every movie ever has assured Ray is necessary is nowhere to be found. Mikey is cradled in a sea of pillows. His hair is sticking up in a million directions. He opens his eyes when the door opens.

Ray waits for the nurse to leave before he approaches the bed. He bites his lip.

“Ray?” Mikey asks.

“Um,” says Ray, “hi.”

There's a plaster cast on Mikey's nose and an ugly bruise across his left cheek, but other than that, he looks relatively okay. He isn't bleeding anywhere, which is a plus. “C'mere,” he says softly.

Ray takes a tentative step closer.

Mikey rolls his eyes and extends the arm not attached to the IV. “Closer, asshole.”

When Ray is within grabbing range, Mikey gets a handful of his shirt and pulls him in and – oh, Ray gets the idea.

They kiss, Ray taking care to be as gentle as possible. He can feel the cuts on the insides of Mikey's cheeks, and Mikey's lips are chapped beyond belief, but Mikey's hand is soft in his hair; Mikey's breath is warm against his face.

“Ray,” Mikey whispers against his lips. “Thank you.”

Ray pulls away slightly to look him in the eye. “For what?”

“You saved my life.”

Ray scoffs. “That's not how I remember it.”

“You _did_ ,” Mikey insists.

“You saved your life,” says Ray. “You got the knife away from him.”

Mikey frowns. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Ray nods. “I do.” He takes a second to just breath Mikey in, revel in the heat of his skin.

He stands up.

“They cut off my clothes,” Mikey says. “They couldn't get my jeans off.”

Ray laughs. “Seriously?”

Mikey nods solemnly. “Yep. I was sort of out of it, so I didn't help much. I guess they're just too tight.”

“Nice jeans, too,” Ray laments. Just seeing him, it feels like an enormous weight has been lifted from Ray's shoulders.

He spots the pile of ruined clothes on a chair and examines the jeans in question. They're cut up the front of both legs; the left pocket it soaked in dried brown blood. Ray holds them up. “Wow.”

“Yeah. I was pretty pissed when I woke up, and the nurse kept telling me I was lucky to be alive--” Mikey smiles a bit. “But those cost me like thirty bucks.”

Ray laughs and makes to set them down, but something catches his eye. On the top of the pile is a scrap of baby blue fabric. His voice dies in his throat. Carefully, Ray replaces the jeans and takes the fabric.

Plain, thin cotton, cut up the front, the left hip soaked in blood.

He swallows. “Mikey,” he says softly.

Mikey's eyes widen. He said he was out of it when they were undressing him; he must not have noticed. Must have forgotten he was wearing them. “Oh,” says Mikey.

Ray takes a deep breath and tries to keep his voice steady. “Fuck,” he breathes. “I'm so fucking sorry.”

But Mikey just looks serene. “No,” he says. “Don't be.”

Ray opens his mouth, but Mikey interrupts him.

“I love you,” he says.

Ray frowns. “What?”

Then there's a knock at the door and Ray quickly pockets the panties, trying his best to look innocent. And, Christ, isn't he the luckiest kid on the planet: it's his mom. Her hair is all disheveled, her posture stiff, but she smiles when she sees him and pulls him in for a hug.

“I'm so glad you're all alright,” is the first thing she says. “My baby.” Ray can't say much with his face in her chest.

“Hi,” he says when she lets him go, and then, “I'm sorry.”

“No, _I'm_ sorry,” she says. “I should have trusted you more.”

“What?” Ray asks, confused.

“You didn't have to lie about Mr. Way picking you up,” she says, brushing her hair out of her face. “We could have taken you there. I shouldn't have been so worried about your friends. And the Ways do seem like lovely people,” she adds.

Mikey raises a his hand. “I'm Mikey,” he says.

Ray's mom smiles. “Nice to meet you,” she says. “I'm Mrs. Toro.”

Mikey laughs. “Me too,” he says.

“I'm sorry?” She says, brow furrowing.

“Your son saved my life,” says Mikey, changing the subject.

* * *

So, they want to keep Mikey over night just to make sure he's okay. Mikey is seriously not cool with this.

“It's not like they're going to break anything,” Mikey argues.

The nurse, a friendly hispanic woman in her forties, is trying her best to console him. “I'm sorry,” she says. “It's just not allowed. It's a liability.”

Mikey flops his head back onto the pillow. “What if it was just my brother?”

She hesitates. “Which one is that?” She asks.

Mikey pauses, thinks it over, and then points to Ray, who is sitting in the chair in the corner trying not to draw attention to himself.

“It's different with family, because we already have contact numbers and insurance on file,” she says, smiling. “If it's alright with your parents, it's alright with us.” She's so sweet, Ray is almost guilty about taking advantage of her. Almost.

“I can't ask my parents,” Ray says the second she leaves.

“They're guilty right now. I think they'll say yes,” Mikey says.

He has a point, but, “It doesn't matter. I don't want to.”

Mikey's face softens. “I can get my mom to talk to her if you'd rather,” he says.

* * *

Ray's pretty sure Mrs. Way is the reason she says yes, but Mikey insists that she would have agreed if Ray had asked. Regardless, they let him stay.

He doesn't realize how late it is until everyone else starts leaving.

“Fuck,” Ray mumbles into Gerard's neck, holding him tight.

“I'm glad you'll be with him,” he says quietly. “He doesn't like being alone.”

Ray nods earnestly when he pulls away. “It's gonna be okay,” he assures Gerard.

Gerard takes a deep breath and slowly releases it, blowing his limp hair away from his face. “I know,” he says.

* * *

They give Mikey soup for dinner, which Ray thinks is super sweet. The nurse offers to feed Ray too, but he politely declines and eats Mikey's crackers instead.

He's pulled the chair right up to Mikey's bedside. He sort of wants to crawl in bed with him but is afraid to ask.

“I know you want to feed it to me,” Mikey jokes. Soup spills down his chin when he laughs, and that just makes it funnier.

“That's stupid,” says Ray, smiling. “Don't be stupid.”

The room is dim, only illuminated by the light of the muted TV, playing the home improvement channel. Colors dance across Mikey's face, pale blues and greens and pinks. He's smiling more than Ray has ever seen him smile, not even considering the circumstances.

Mikey puts his tray on the bedside table when he finishes eating, and Ray shifts it over so it doesn't fall. This moment feels precious, breakable.

“Mikey,” Ray whispers, watching Mikey settle into the sheets.

“You going to sleep too?” Mikey asks, oblivious to Ray's fragility.

“Yeah,” says Ray. “If you are.”

Wordlessly, Mikey rolls over and pats the empty part of the bed.

Ray bites his lip. “Is there room?” He asks.

Mikey snorts. “There's always room.”

* * *

They let Mikey out the next day and leave Ray with strict orders to watch him for any signs of brain damage. Ray dutifully accepts his task.

He begs his mom for a full five minutes, and in the end, she caves and lets him spend the day at the Ways'. Everyone is going to be there, he says, Frank and Frank's parents and Linsey and Bob and Gerard and Gerard's parents and Mikey, so she drops him off but can't come herself because she has to work. It makes Ray sort of giddy thinking that maybe she _would_ stay, if she didn't have to work.

He assumed Mikey would be in his room, but he's not. He's bundled up on the couch in the middle of the living room, and everyone is clustered around the coffee table in front of him.

There's something resembling a cheer when Ray walks in the door, the noise and smell of smoke and coffee assaulting his senses.

“Toro!” Gerard screeches, tackling him where he stands. Ray's never seen him so energetic.

Once the air returns to his lungs, he gently removes Gerard and asks, “Were you not expecting me?”

He shakes his head. “Frank said there was no way your mom would let you come.”

“Oh.” Ray smiles. “Guess Frank was wrong.”

It turns out that Frank's mom is baking cookies in the Ways' kitchen while the kids prepare to continue their D&D campaign. Ray pauses when he sees the spread of maps and papers on the coffee table, the dice and the figurines, his character sheet. It's set out and ready to go. Warmth spreads outward from Ray's gut.

“You guys are--”

“Yeah,” Frank says, gesturing for him to sit down. “I mean, the rulebooks were here and so were we, so why not?”

“Not all of the rulebooks,” Gerard corrects. “There was one in my bag, which got lost.”

Mikey snorts. “He doesn't even keep school stuff in it. We're lucky he wasn't carrying the character sheets too.”

“We can play without it, though,” says Bob.

“Probably better that way,” Frank mumbles under his breath. Gerard is a hardcore rules lawyer.

It takes Ray a moment to notice Lindsey sitting at the foot of the couch. She's not playing, but she seems pretty interested in whatever Gerard is doing, and also pretty interested in stealing Mikey's numerous blankets. She's not wearing makeup, which is a first. It strikes Ray that she's actually really... pretty. And she makes Gerard smile, which is even more beautiful.

Ray shoves a hand under the pile of blankets and squeezes Mikey's ankle. “Hey,” he says.

“I'm glad you could come,” says Mikey.

“Hell yeah!” Frank says. “Can't have a good campaign without our trusty bard!”

Bob rolls his eyes. “Bards don't do anything.”

“Bards do _lots_ of things,” Gerard corrects. “That's their whole schtick.”

“Sure,” says Bob. He and Ray glare at each other across the table for a good thirty seconds before Ray cracks up.

* * *

They break once again for cookies, hot and gooey and all over Mikey's face because Ray insists on feeding them to him.

Gerard quietly informs him that his parents are going to press charges. “We can win,” he says. “There were tons of us. With the guy he paralyzed, there were no witnesses.”

Ray grimaces. He knows that means he's going to have to testify. It makes him uncomfortable, but he'll do it for Mikey.

“The court's going to know that you and Lindsey banged,” Frank jokes.

Gerard nods, a smile spreading across his face. Ray gets the feeling he doesn't care who knows.

He and Lindsey traded places during the game, so Gerard and his girlfriend are within cuddling distance, and so are Ray and Mikey. Ray is sort of sitting on Mikey's weird, bony ankles, but he doesn't mind. He's waiting for the game to end to initiate cuddle time.

And when the adventure does finally end, when they've raided the goblin shrine in the woods and Gerard is packing up, Mikey finally sits up and pulls Ray to his side.

“You're so fuckin',” Mikey says. He stops after that.

Ray nods. “Yeah,” he says. He watches Gerard and Frank search frantically for Frank's missing character sheet.

“Hey,” says Mikey. “I think I need some rest.”

Ray pulls away slightly. “Oh, um, okay?”

“I think you need to tuck me in.”

“Oh,” says Ray.

Ray's never seen Mikey's room. It's slightly cleaner than he'd expected, in that the bed is made and the clothes are in a hamper, not on the floor. Then again, it could have been Mrs. Way's doing.

Mikey strips off his shirt.

“Oh,” is all Ray can say, watching him remove it and toss it toward the hamper. He reveals skin and bruises in seemingly equal measure. “What're you--”

“Tuck me in,” says Mikey, sitting down on the bed.

Ray laughs. “You were serious?”

“A bit. C'mere.” He opens his arms. Ray obediently comes.

And then their lips are connected, and Ray is just surrounded by _Mikey_ , everywhere he turns, breathing him in. He’s surprisingly strong for his size, or maybe Ray just isn’t fighting back.

It takes him a moment to get into it, because Mikey is sort of ravishing him and he can’t think very well, but when he does, he tentatively nibbles at Mikey’s lips. He smiles into the kiss. Mikey hums and pulls him backward until Ray’s on top of him and the nicely-made bed it ruined.

Ray comes up for air first, his lips tingling. Mikey’s chest is bare beneath him, pale except for where it’s not, where it’s black and blue but still beautiful.

“Fuck,” Ray breathes.

Mikey tosses his head playfully and arches into Ray. His jeans aren’t hiding much.

Ray suddenly feels severely overdressed. He scrambles to remove his shirt, but it gets stuck on his head, and Mikey has to sit up and yank if off him. Then it’s his chest against Mikey’s, their skin hot, Ray’s breathing ragged. Mikey remains cool.

“This is okay,” Mikey says. He doesn’t say it like a question, but Ray knows it is. That he’s doubting himself somewhere behind his stoic expression.

“Yes,” Ray says without hesitation. “Fuck yes.”

He holds no illusions about where this is going. He throws his shirt across the room and starts on his pants, eager to feel more of Mikey’s skin against his. All the while, Mikey runs hands up and down his torso, making him shiver. He latches onto Ray’s neck like -- well, sort of like Gerard, actually, but that’s okay because the vampire thing is one of Gerard’s very few attractive traits. Mikey bites hard into the muscle. Ray groans, low and animalistic.

Mikey straddles his thighs as soon as the pants are gone, rutting up against his stomach. The outline of his cock is clearly visible through his tight jeans. Ray’s seen it before, sure, but this is still the most surreal thing he has ever experienced, touching. Ray can practically smell his arousal.

“Want you,” Mikey says, low. He doesn’t bother warning Ray before he shoves a hand into his boxers and pulls out Ray’s dick.

“Fuck,” Ray chokes, because _fuck_. Mikey’s hands are so soft, like a girl's, his fingers long, his grip delicate. Ray involuntarily thrusts into his hand.

Mikey is mesmerized, fondling him gently, admiring him. “Ray,” he breathes. “ _Jesus_.”

And Ray can’t help but squirm self-consciously. He’s never exactly examined another guy’s dick before, so he has no frame of reference. He’s sure something’s wrong with his. “What?” He asks.

“You never told me about this.”

“About what?” Ray asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

“You’re fuckin’ _hung_ ,” Mikey says, and he giggles. “Wow.”

That’s when Ray twists away, out of his grip, blushing furiously.

“No, no,” Mikey says, scooting closer, pinning him to the wall. “I’m serious. I -- fuck. I’m sorry. Is it okay if I--?”

And then Mikey's mouth is on the head of his dick, and it takes every bit of Ray's willpower not to choke him immediately. He groans some obscenity, and Mikey hums in agreement.

Mikey wraps a hand around Ray when he pulls away, stroking him gently. “I want you to fuck me, but not now,” he says bluntly. He shrugs and averts his eyes. “I don't think I can take you right now.”

Ray nods furiously, _okay, whatever, just do something_.

“So would it be okay if I maybe sucked you off?”

Ray wants to say something like, 'are you stupid, why do you even need to _ask_ ,' but instead he says, “yes.”

Mikey wastes no time shoving most of Ray's cock down his throat. Ray just – he just can't; he just melts against the wall. His hands find their way to Mikey's hair and he runs it through his fingers.

And Mikey is way too enthusiastic about it, trying to take him to the hilt and literally choking. He makes these obscene noises that would be disgusting in any other circumstances, but now they just feel amazing. In one swift motion, Mikey swallows him all the way down to his balls, and then immediately pulls up for air, coughing. His face is tinged pink, his lips slick and his eyebrows furrowed in determination. Ray's secretly thankful for the reprieve. He doesn't want to come too soon.

“Um,” he says, smiling from the sheer absurdity of the situation, “you don't have to deepthroat me.”

Mikey narrows his eyes. “I want to,” he insists.

Ray shrugs. “Okay.” _Just don't kill yourself_.

Without really thinking about it, Ray reaches for the button on Mikey's pants. Mikey shys away.

“What?” Asks Ray.

“No, you can,” Mikey says after a moment. “Let me.” With trembling hands, he pops his button and unzips. Then he yanks the cuffs over his feet – Ray doesn't question this method. Mikey knows a lot more about taking off skinnies than he does – and finally shimmies out of them.

Ray just stares.

Mikey's flushed down to his chest. “Um,” he says. “Yeah.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Ray says, regaining his composure. His hands hover over Mikey's sharp hips, scared to touch.

“Gerard bought them for me because I told him the old ones were ruined.”

That takes a second to sink in. “Gerard – okay, that's sort of weird,” says Ray.

“The first pair was his idea too,” says Mikey.

Ray takes a deep, steady breath and slips his thumbs under the fabric where Mikey's hipbones create space.

They're soft and baby blue, identical to the last pair. “He has good ideas,” says Ray. He tries not to think of Gerard after that.

“You have to wait,” says Mikey, pushing him away with surprising force, back against the wall. His eyes are feral.

Ray wants to object, but then Mikey starts stroking him again and his mouth is so fucking _warm_ – he can't.

Mikey is more cautious this time. He starts with the head, sucking him in and out. The chill of cold air against wet skin makes Ray shiver each time. He does a pretty good job of controlling himself, taking care not to pull Mikey in. That's not to say he doesn't pull Mikey's hair, because he _does_ , but he doesn't force him down, even if it's pretty obvious that Mikey wants him to. When Mikey switches back to deepthroating – well, he doesn't exactly take it like a _pro_ , but he takes it like – something.

It's completely overwhelming. Mikey's throat is fucking tiny, his mouth hot. When Ray's eyes flutter open, he's met with an expanse of pale skin. Mikey's ass is in the air, his head in Ray's lap. It doesn't look comfortable, but it's fucking _beautiful_ , the contours of his spine, the cotton panties sagging down from the weight of his cock. His mouth is stretched obscenely wide around Ray.

Ray grunts something unintelligible. He meant to warn Mikey, but his orgasm catches him off guard. All he can do is open his mouth in a silent scream and twist his hands in the sheets. Mikey's throat contracts around him as he pulls back. He catches most of it in his mouth, but the last spurt hits him across the cheek.

Ray sags against the wall. Mikey grimaces and casually spits on the sheets, where the pillow would be had he not knoxcked it off.

“Mikey,” Ray breathes as soon as he regains his voice.

Mikey leans forward and kisses him, soft and sweet. His mouth tastes sort of gross, but Ray doesn't mind.

Ray nuzzles against him, dazed. He absently wanders Mikey's body, stroking his skin, prodding his bruises until Mikey slaps his hands away. He palms Mikey's cock through the panties, making him shudder. Ray slowly slides down his chest until he's close enough to get his mouth on the fabric.

He mouthes at the outline of Mikey's cock, breathing him in, trying to stay focused. “Mine,” he says.

Mikey chuckles above him and gently grabs handfuls of Ray's hair, pressing him downward.

The fabric is partly transparent, soaked with Ray's spit. He rubs his face in it a little more before sliding the panties down Mikey's skinny hips, letting his dick spring free. He wastes no time sucking him, sloppy and erratic. Mikey grunts and thrusts into Ray's mouth.

“No,” says Ray, pulling off. He holds Mikey's hips down and takes him to the root. It's not the hardest thing he's ever done, but Ray suspects he has a big mouth. He can't stay there, at any rate, so after attempting to swallow around him – Mikey sort of squeaks – he goes back to bobbing up and down the shaft the way porn has taught him.

Mikey pulls him off. “Hand,” he grunts.

Ray quickly repositions, jerking him off instead. He must be about to come. What should Ray do? Is he allowed to dodge it?

Before he decides, Mikey stiffens and he gets a load to the face.

Ray stills for a second as Mikey flops back onto the bed. He has the presence of mind to wipe most of it on the sheets. “Oh,” he says.

Mikey pants. “Sorry,” he says.

“No, it's okay,” Ray says. He crawls up the bed and rests his head in Mikey's armpit because he doesn't give a fuck anymore. Mikey is radiating heat. “That was awesome.”

Mikey cracks a smile. “What, the comeshot?”

Ray hums noncommittally.

There's a pause, and then Mikey gingerly removes the underwear and stuffs them under the mattress. He rolls over to face Ray. “Sorry this didn't work out the first time.”

Ray shrugs. “It was worth the wait.” He thinks back to the hospital, to Mikey, frail and broken in a cradle of blankets. To his ruined jeans. He's looking better now, more color in his face.

“Hey,” Ray says before he can stop himself, “in the hospital. You said something.” And it's a bad idea – he knows it's a bad idea. Too late to take it back.

“Yeah,” says Mikey. He understands immediately. They're on the same wavelength.

Ray thinks about it. “Was it just because you thought I saved your life?”

“You did,” Mikey insists, brow set.

“Barely,” says Ray. “That's not the point.”

Mikey's body is pressed against his, sticky from sweat, his dick resting against Ray's thigh, his feet tucked under the comforter.

“It wasn't because of that,” Mikey says quietly.

“Oh,” says Ray. And he knows it's only been a few weeks, knows the afterglow is clouding his judgement, but – “I think maybe I do, too.”

Mikey looks him over, trying to see through his skin. After a second, he asks, “Can you say it?”

Ray nods. “Yeah. Um,” he shifts back so he can see Mikey's face.

Mikey rests a hand on his shoulder. Ray takes a deep breath.

“I love you, I think.”

* * *

Ray sort of expects everybody to be gone when he finally works up the nerve to drag himself out of bed, locate his pants with Mikey's assistance, and start the walk of shame into the Way's musty living room. He really should know better. The only people who appear to have left are Frank's parents, and for all Ray knows, they could be hiding out in the Ways' secret basement hot tub. He does not know for a fact that the Ways own a secret basement hot tub, but he has no evidence to the contrary, either.

He finds the crowd in the kitchen, eating pizza. All Ray can think is, _seriously, pizza?_ Because, while his brain is overloaded with post-orgasm chemicals, he has the presence of mind to remember why they're all gathered here. It's sort of a solemn occasion. But then again, he really knows very little about the Ways. Maybe they have pizza at funerals too. He wouldn't put it past them.

He gets the distinct feeling that everyone is holding back the urge to clap as he enters the kitchen. Frank beams at him, and Gerard just raises an eyebrow at Mikey as they share some weird conversation that takes place entirely through facial expressions. Also, there's literally nothing funnier than Mikey making faces.

The table is silent as they sit down in the two chairs that have obviously been waiting for them. Ray can even tell which one is his, because it's in front of an untouched pizza slice, banana pepper. Ray knows for a fact Mikey is not into peppers, and he's only into bananas in the juvenile sense.

The squeak of the mismatched chair legs is disturbingly audible. Ray has a sneaking suspicion that Gerard warned the table in advance, maybe even warned them to stop _breathing_ when he arrived, because, though he sees their chests rising and falling, the room is too quiet for him to believe air is moving in and out of their lungs. He takes a bite of his pizza, shifting all eyes to Mikey.

Mikey shrugs. “What?”

And then Frank starts cackling like a hyena, because Frank has a knack for turning awkward silence into awkward conversation. Lindsey joins in with a polite little giggle. Ray gets the feeling that this is not her natural laugh, that maybe she's putting on some sort of show for them, because believe it or not, he's actually heard Lindsey laugh before, and it's usually more of a snort than anything. She shouldn't hold back, Ray thinks. Gerard probably digs snorts.

And so, he prolongs that single bite of pizza until most of the commotion has died down. He glares at Gerard, whose face is pink from exertion. Laughing tends to do that to him. Gerard doesn't get out much.

“Sorry,” he says, smiling. “Payback.”

And, Ray gets that. As he recalls, Gerard's walk of shame was significantly worse than his.

So, after that, nobody mentions the fact that Mikey and Ray have clearly been banging for at least half an hour.

“So,” says Lindsey. “Our parents are all out doing legal stuff, still. I'm supposed to tell you two that you're old enough to get involved, if you want.”

Ray shakes his head.

“That what I thought. Just making sure.”

Frank starts some bullshit conversation about school which quickly devolves into him and Lindsey making fun of Gerard's smoking habit. Bob jumps in to defend him.

It's weird. Ray's never really considered Bob a smoker, but he's seen him do it more than a few times now. He's just an unobtrusive sort of guy. Ray barely notices Bob at all, let alone the cancer hanging out of his mouth.

And so Ray watches Lindsey smile and questions his sexuality a little bit. Gerard is one lucky motherfucker; her smile just melts him. And by smile, Ray obviously means tits. Like, some people gesture with their hands when they talk. Lindsey gestures with her tits. She's wearing this low-cut tank top, and they're all squishy and pale and popping out everywhere – kind of like Gerard's tits, actually.

And then he catches Mikey's smile out of the corner of his eye, a small, secretive thing. If Lindsey's melted him, Mikey's fucking disintegrates him. Ray loves Mikey's smile, and by smile, he obviously means everything about him.

Then Gerard says something to him, but he's not listening.

“Huh?” Says Ray.

“Welcome to the family,” says Gerard.

Before he gets the chance to say anything, Frank snorts. “That's not how I treat my family.” Bob slaps a hand over his mouth when he starts poorly imitating Mikey's sex noises.

Mikey reaches across the table for the pizza box.

There are only two slices left. Mikey's face falls. They're both banana pepper.

“Sorry,” says Bob. Frank's obviously about to make some sort of pizza-related pun, but Bob glares at him, so he doesn't.

“I'll eat them,” Ray offers. “Like, the cheese will still taste a little funny, but there's pepperoni too so you should be--”

And Mikey gives him this look, like, _dude, it's cool_. Ray takes a deep breath and smiles. Mikey's right. Everything's cool. He dutifully starts work on the peppers.


End file.
